Free Radicals
by beamirang
Summary: James Kirk hates Starfleet. Leonard McCoy hates space. How they ended up sitting together on a shuttle bound for their worst nightmares is anyone's guess. Academy Era.
1. Chapter 1

Yay! Academy fic time! You know how I warned you that this was huge and long and plotty and epic and lots of stuff happens? I wasn't joking. Fortunately for me the fabulous Tishbing has come on board to beta, so extra hands mean less silly typos!

I've tried to work everything in - backstories and things that have been teased at over the other stories, plus lots of lovely hurt comfort, bonding, badassery and blackmail.

As always, I have tried to keep the actual OCs to a minimum and have drawn on various canon characters to fill in blanks, but because this world is a little more sprawling than the contained set of the _Enterprise_ there might be a couple more than usual. It's also not to say that we won't be seeing Spock, Chekov or Sulu at any point either; we will, and Scotty's legacy to the Academy will be well known. :p

I have lifted some facts from the Academy Series of books, though not all. Likewise I've taken what knowledge I could about the Academy and fashioned it as sort of a sci-fi bastardisation of West Point. I've tried to explain how the various systems work as and when they pop up but let me know if there is anything that doesn't make sense. Because Jim is a difficult bastard, I've had to tweak some things around anyway! I think what I'm saying in a rambly way is that this one reads much more like a military set piece than any of the other stories because our main characters are bottom of the chain of command as opposed to leading it (and enforcing some pretty lax code of conducts, yes I'm looking at you, Captain Princess).

Anyway, on with the story. Get comfy, grab a hot drink and enjoy!

* * *

From upside down, Jim had a unique view of Officer Garret's spit polished boots as they came to stop at the edge of his cell. "Morning Boss!" He said brightly, red in the face from both the rush of blood and the sheer number of crunches he'd been doing.

Garret was the kind of long suffering man who had a wife and two kids back home who clearly gave him enough to be worrying about without the added perk of keeping a bunch of cons in line. Perfectly polished, totally by the book, he was still a fair guy and Jim didn't go out of his way to make his life a misery, which was as close to an expression of respect as he really got.

"Last day, Kirk. You packed?"

With a grunt of exertion, Jim straightened himself so he was no longer hanging upside down from the edge of his bunk. His cellmate grabbed him by the upper arm and gave him a balance from which to hop down to the ground. Humperdink wasn't a bad guy, weird ass name aside, but he was big and burly enough that anyone with the balls to actually mock him only ever did so the once. He was more than heavy enough to keep Jim's calves pinned to the mattress of the top bunk while he worked out and zen enough not to care if Jim decided that fifty crunches should end up being five hundred.

Jim had to admire the stroke of fate that saw him – who had always been a boisterous, energetic, athletic kind of guy – at the height of his physical fitness while confined to a twelve foot cell.

Jim picked up his discarded shirt and used it to clean the sweat from his face. "All set, Boss." Since all he owned were the clothes on his back, it wasn't like he had to worry about much.

Garret didn't look amused, but Jim had learned that didn't mean he was displeased. Guy had a stone cold poker face. "Try not to land your ass back in here, Kirk."

"Really not on my list of priorities." Jim agreed, looping the shirt over his shoulders. Humperdink jumped down from the top bunk and pulled Jim into a one armed hug that made his ribs ache.

"Been a real hoot, Slim." He said with a grin. "Don't you be fucking things up."

"I'll be the very model of good behavior." Jim swore. "Here's hoping your next cellie is as good looking and charismatic as I am."

"With half your ego." Humperdink's grin made him look slightly deranged. Jim had lucked out landing him as a bunkmate. On the whole, he got on with most of the guys inside, but there were plenty he'd not have relished spending eighteen months locked in a room with. He knew that if he'd been banged up only a hundred years back, his experience would probably have been a whole lot less comfortable. Maybe not as boring… "Seriously though Slim, I owe you."

"Nah, man. You don't." Jim shook off the statement with a grin to hide his discomfort. So he'd done the guy a favor or two. Hardly a big deal.

"See ya around." Humperdink grinned, holding out a hand for Jim to shake.

He did so with a matching expression. "Sure." He lied.

He had no intention at all of being on the planet this time tomorrow. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going to go, certainly not any of the places he'd been before. He'd have to leave Federation Space as quickly as possible, so he'd probably just chance his luck and see where he ended up.

Garret led him out of Gen Pop and into processing where he collected his belongings: boots, jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket and credit chip - not that he thought there was much on there.

Changed and feeling more like himself once out of the generic uniform, Jim bounded out towards the gate. It was a glorious day with endless blue skies and birds chirruping and all the other cliched things about Earth that Jim had read about but not really understood until then.

"Kirk."

There was very little that could bring his mood down, but the gravelly voice of Warden Coots could damn well give it a give try.

"Warden." Jim said, fixing on his biggest, brightest smile. The one that drove the man crazy. Coots was one of those guys who was firmly convinced Jim was a waste of good DNA. He might even be right, but Jim did enjoy pissing him off. "How are you on this fine day?"

"You're meeting with your parole officer at nine o'clock tomorrow. Statrine Street offices. Don't be late."

"I'm never late." Jim protested, hand on his heart. Coots glowered at him. He had that ex-Marine scowl down perfectly. "Aw come on, you know you're gonna miss me."

"Mark my words, Kirk, I'm certain you will be back before the end of the year. You have learned nothing in your time here."

"That's a lie, Warden!" Jim protested innocently. "I've learnt Russian and how to knit. Okay, granted I'm not very good at it. The knitting, not the Russian, my Russian is awesome…"

"Get out, Kirk." Coots said through clenched teeth.

"You're the boss, Boss." Jim winked and waved up to the guard on watch as the gates opened. "Gentlemen, it's been swell."

The gates closed with an echoing thud behind him. "Well that was rude." Jim muttered, looking both ways down the long stretch of road. It was miles from any place remotely populated and it wasn't like he had anyone to come pick him up. Hoshi-san might have done if he'd told her he was getting out, but their last chat hadn't really gone so well and he'd not call begging for favors after making her cry. Again.

He could just walk it. Stretch his legs, smell the clean, fresh air. It would do him good.

Instead he doubled around to the parking lot.

Nice car, shitty car, weird looking hybrid thing…and there. His eyes lit up with barely contained glee as he skipped over to Warden Coot's pride and joy.

The bike was brand new and gleaming. Top of the line, with a supposedly unbeatable anti-theft system.

But it was a system that ran on a computer, and Jim had yet to meet a computer he couldn't sweet talk into taking it's panties off.

And apparently he needed to get laid. Eighteen months was a long, long ass time. He didn't think he'd ever gone eighteen months without sex.

Right, so. Grand theft auto first, sex second, shuttle off this dump of a planet third. Somewhere in there he'd add alcohol because again, eighteen months. He'd been a functioning alcoholic since the age of fourteen. Going cold turkey had been a bitch.

The bike roared to life at his command and he dug the tracking chip out of her guts. When he tossed it on the ground, he made sure to drive over the damn thing.

* * *

"What do you mean there isn't another shuttle?" Jim yelled at the clerk behind the desk.

"Exactly what I said." The clerk said, shooting Jim an irritated glare. "Everything's grounded tonight because of the strikes."

"What strikes?" Jim demanded.

"The ones that have been happening all week," the clerk snapped, trying to field three calls coming in at once. "Where the hell have you been, man?"

"Jail." Jim said flatly, smirking at the wide-eyed look of worry that was sent his way. "Aggravated assault, if you were wondering."

"I-I wasn't."

"So," Jim said, his smile less tight around the edges. "Next shuttle leaves?"

"There's a Starfleet Shuttle at oh-seven-hundred." The clerk offered. Jim grimaced. No thank you.

"How about one that won't be packed with bright eyed idealists who think they can save the world?" Jim asked, his blatant cynicism showing through the clench of his teeth,

"Next commercial shuttle is at eight ten."

Jim nodded. "Perfect. Thanks for your time." He winked, and headed for the door.

"You don't want to buy a ticket?" The clerk called after him in confusion.

"Nah." Jim said. Why pay for a ticket when he could stowaway in the engine rooms? "Hey, where's the nearest bar?"

* * *

Six hours and twice as many shots later, Jim had filled the alcohol deficit in his life and was nicely marinating in his own drunken thoughts. He'd relished the burn of each drink and he was almost looking forward to the hangover.

Christ, he was pathetic. He was looking forward to a hangover.

How exactly was this his life?

He was a twenty-two year old ex-con with no education, no qualifications, no friends and at last check sixteen credits to whatever name the credit chip in his pocket was registered to. The only thing he had to look forward to was a morning puking up his lungs.

He glared at the glass in his hands. Had he always been this maudlin when drunk?

"-I'd like a Clabmian Fire Tea, three Budwiser Classics, two Cardassian Sunrises and-"

Jim's ears perked up at the voice two spots down the bar. Now that was a woman who knew how to drink!

"-a slusho mix, thank you."

So. He'd ticked drinking off his Earth Bucket list, transport was kinda covered, that just left sex. He was sober enough for sex. Kinda. Maybe.

"That's a lota drinks for one woman." Jim said by way of introduction. He leaned around the guy - at least he was fairly sure it was a guy, even if he belonged to a race Jim had never encountered before - and propped himself up on the bar to get a decent look at the target of his next agenda.

It was possible it was the booze talking, that or the long dry spell, but he was fairly sure that whoever she was, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

She met his gaze with the slightly unimpressed look of a woman who'd been hit on by drunken jerks like Jim her whole life and then flashed a smile at the bartender. Jim was fairly sure he'd gone to school with the guy during the brief, oh so delightful stint he'd had at Riverside Elementary. Corey? Carey? He didn't think he'd ever learned the guy's name and he really didn't give a damn.

"And a shot of Jack." The woman added to her list.

"Make that two, her shot's on me." Jim said.

"Her shot's on her." The woman corrected. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Ouch. "Don't you at least want to know my name before you completely reject me?" Jim asked, faking an air of wounded pride. Damnit, he needed to stop setting his sights on the women who'd sooner kick the crap out of him than sleep with him. You'd have thought he'd learned that lesson with Lenore. There were probably a dozen other women in the bar he could have out back and moaning enthusiastically with a few choice words and a smile…

…so why exactly did he want this one?

"I'm fine without it." He could tell he was amusing her, which, okay, not quite the path he'd been aiming for, but he could work with that.

"You are fine without it." Jim nodded in agreement. "It's Jim, Jim Kirk." Nothing. Just a slightly pitying look from the maybe-guy sat between them. "If you don't tell me your name I'mma have to make one up."

She couldn't stop the smile tugging at her lips. "It's Uhura." She said reluctantly.

"Uhura, no way!" Jim grinned. "That's the name I was gonna make up for you." He ignored the less pittying, more patronizing glance from beside him and slid off his stool. "Uhura what?"

"Just Uhura." She sighed.

Jim frowned. "They don't have last names on your world?"

"Uhura is my last name."

"They don't have, er, first names on your world?" He really shouldn't have had that last shot. Coherent thought was becoming a problem.

Still, he grabbed his Jack and moved around the bar to stand next to her. She was even more beautiful up close. "So," Jim said, "you're a cadet, you're studying, what's your focus?"

He caught the surprise on her face when he pinned down what she was. Even if he hadn't known that there was a boat full of cadets waiting to be shipped up to the Bay he'd have spotted it on her a mile off. Starfleet had a certain look about them, and Starfleet cadets had it even worse. It was two parts excitement, one part righteousness and a whole bucket load of superiority. And that was from someone who only hated Starfleet a little bit. He'd heard a hell of a lot worse out there in the black.

"Xenolinguistics." Uhura said. "You have no idea what that is." There was that superiority. Jim bet he had far more practical experience with alien languages than she did. You tended to pick them up quickly when ignorance led to people shooting at you.

Jim grinned at her and pretended that leaning on the bar was a move he made to look cool and relaxed, not because he was about to fall over. He really shouldn't have had that last shot. "Study of alien languages, morphology, phonology, syntax. Means you've got a talented tongue."

She looked up at him again, her surprise growing. He was getting through to her, he could see that. She was like him. She liked brains. "You're smarter than you look."

Jim's smile felt a little bitter but that could have been the Jack. "Baby, I'm the smartest." Christ, he was pathetic.

"I'm impressed," she said, playing it cool. "For a moment there I thought you were just a dumb hick who only had sex with farm animals."

Jim couldn't help chuckle. God, he knew how to pick 'em. "Well, not _only."_

She laughed and Jim was fairly sure that drunk though he was, that sound was the nicest damn sound he'd ever heard.

"This townie bothering you?" There seemed to be some universal mandate that said any pretty woman needed to have an attachment of big, burly, stupid men hovering in her wake, ready to pounce on anyone they deemed unworthy of her time. Jim glanced over his shoulder at the four bulky cadets and dismissed them out of mind. He was pretty sure Uhura could look after herself if she wanted to, and it wasn't like he was being a complete jerk.

"Oh beyond belief," Uhura laughed, "but it's nothing I can't handle."

"You could handle me," Jim smirked, "that's an invitation."

"Hey, you better mind your manners." Biggest and Burliest said angrily.

"Oh relax Cupcake, it was a joke." He said, his sense of humor rapidly diminishing. God, he hated people some times. A lot of the time. He clapped the guy on the shoulder and turned back to Uhura.

"Hey," a heavy hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him around, "farm boy, maybe you can't count but there are four of us and one of you."

"So get some more guys and then it'll be an even fight." He said, smiling and patting the guy patronizingly on the cheek.

He was too drunk for this shit. Too drunk and kinda pissed at the world because apparently even when he tried to behave and stay out of trouble fate just had to drop a couple of dumbass wannabe heroes in his path.

He hadn't been in a fight since before prison. He wasn't in any rush to change that. He had a better control over his temper now. He wasn't that angry kid who didn't know any other way to act.

He clearly was too drunk for this, because the first punch to the jaw actually surprised him. He spun around with the force of it and hit the bar hard.

There was blood in his mouth and his jaw throbbed and for a second the pain was the only thing he could compute.

It was old and familiar…almost comforting in a way. He knew this, violence.

Okay fine, the world wants to pick a fight with him? Jim Kirk will gladly oblige.

He turned around and faced them, wondering if they had any idea what kind of monster they were poking with a stick. There was a voice in the back of his head telling him to calm down, that he promised he wouldn't do this any more…that he was done hurting people.

Fortunately for him, the alcohol made it pretty damn easy to ignore everything, voices included.

Cupcake broadcasted like fuck. Jim could see the swing in him long before it actually rounded through. Jim ducked and kicked him hard in the midsection, sending him flying.

His buddies joined in quickly. They were first years, they had the basics drilled into them but he doubted they had a huge amount of actual combat experience. Jim blocked the blows aimed his way and swung back with a few of his own. His aim was a little blurry - he was out of practice and apparently the alcohol did more than just effect his ability to think things through calmly and rationally.

The second blow to the head sent him stumbling backwards and into Uhura, who for some reason didn't seem impressed when Jim used her chest to balance himself. She shoved him away hard - some impressive upper body strength for such a slender woman - and right into buddy number three's fist.

Well that was cheating. Jim was a little impressed.

At least until one wrapped their arms around him from behind and tried to pin his arms to his chest. Last time someone had done that to Jim he'd had three times his strength and a better grip. Jim had come out of it with a fractured skull and a deep dislike for anyone who was cowardly enough to hit a man his buddies were holding down for him.

He brought his head back hard and broke the asshole's nose, just as the guy in front came swinging at him. The hold on him loosened and Jim ducked to one side so the incoming punch took the asshole out instead.

He dealt with number four just as quickly, grabbing a bottle from the bar and smashing it around the side of his head.

That hurt. He knew that hurt, and for a second he hesitated. He wasn't going to stand there and get his ass kicked but he didn't want to actually cause anyone any real harm. Time was he would have. He'd have hated these stupid, over privileged kids and would have beat on them all day and night.

But he was better than that now. He'd already promised he wasn't going to be that person. He wasn't going to be the guy who hurt other people because it made him feel better.

The hesitation was costly. A hand snagged his jacket and pulled him around into a punch that did as much damage as the first two combined.

He hit the floor hard and stayed there until he was hauled up and dumped over a table.

Then the hits kept coming. One after another even as Uhura tried to call them off.

The only ways out of it that Jim knew were wickedly vicious and in the mess he was in could actually kill someone. So he did nothing, just took the hits until he couldn't have actually fought back even if he wanted to.

A shrill whistle that hurt almost as much as the hits did rang through the air and Jim was dropped like a hot coal.

He groaned miserably and tried to get a look at the man who commanded the entire room's attention. Upside down and with blood in his eyes, it was impossible to really tell. He could see a Starfleet Uniform and that was about it.

Then Starfleet spoke and Jim wished to god someone was still punching him in the face.

"Outside, all of you." Christopher Pike - the one person Jim would sooner die than let see him like this - had the cadets rushing from the room in seconds.

Jim wondered if Pike recognized him. Probably not. He'd probably not given Jim a second thought since Jim had been such a colossal shit to him in the hospital after Tarsus. A shiver ran down his spine and he felt like he'd throw up. He didn't think about Tarsus. Not ever. And by association, he tried not to think about Chris Pike.

But that concerned expression was one Jim knew well. "You alright, son?"

Jim wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

Since he hadn't done the latter in years, he settled for grinning inanely. "You can whistle really loud, you know that?"


	2. Chapter 2

In the film Pike refers to the shuttle as being full of new recruits, which doesn't really make much sense as Uhura already is taking classes...and she and Jim are set to graduate in the same year. With Jim on his crazy '3 years' track she would have to be a second year, putting them on the same level when he gets bumped up (but we'll go into that later!). So I've made them returning second year cadets instead of new recruits. Likewise, they are always referred to as 'cadets' instead of 'midshipmen', which would be their actual title if the Academy is like any other military schooling system currently in operation. Mostly I do the same, but at times they might be addressed as midshipmen. I could actually go on a whole rant about ranking systems within the films (because they are all over the place damnit!)but I won't. I'll behave.

Once again, thanks to Tishbing for her beta prowess.

Now, I think it's about time we had some Pike, don't you?

* * *

Christopher Pike hated Iowa. With a passion. It was flat and yellow and green and the last time he'd been there had been one of the worst days of his life.

It wasn't like anyone knew that. It wasn't like they were being any more sadistic in their punishment than usual…it just felt that way to him.

Maybe he'd been out in the black for too long. Maybe he was taking these things too personally, who knew? All he _did _know was that he _was_ being punished, and that wasn't an over exaggeration. He'd disobeyed a direct order while in the Argos system and though doing so had saved the civilians he and his crew had been sent to retrieve, it had cost him his ship. The review board had decided in his favor - it _had_ been the right call to make, even idiots like Kormac were in agreement there - he was still a captain with no ship. Sending him to the Academy to 'best utilize a resource' would have been all well and good if he'd been teaching something he had any practical experience in. This, on the other hand, was Marcus putting him in his place.

It was hard not to call a spade a spade, but he sucked it up and thanked them, and here he was in goddamn Iowa of all places ferrying a group of new second year cadets from leave back to the Bay. Assuming he got them all back in one piece, he could look forward keeping them on the straight and narrow until they graduated or he was delivered from purgatory.

Captain Christopher Pike, Commandant of Midshipmen. It would be a race to see what killed him first, the boredom or the kids.

_The kids, _ he decided, stepping into the bar he'd tracked this lot down to. Smart credits were on the kids.

They were a predictable bunch if nothing else. Given a free evening's liberty and of course they wouldn't make it past the first bar. Finding them had been less a case of employing his smarts and more a matter of following his nose.

Sweat, alcohol and vomit. Just what his evening needed.

He found four of them in the middle of the chaos. Three looked like they'd had their asses handed to them. The fourth had some drunk townie pinned to a table and was rapidly making light work of the kid's face.

He whistled shrilly, killing both the cheers and the futile attempts to stop the violence. The townie fell back on to the table with a thud and a groan while his cadets looked at him in horror.

"Outside," he said sternly, "all of you." This was hardly the first, or tenth, fight he'd ever had to break up, and there had always been rivalry between cadets and townies…but while a brawl was one thing, beating up on one lone kid was not something he would stand for on his watch. They stared at him in horror, no doubt wondering if his reputation for being a hardass was half as bad as the reality. Pike almost pitied them. He had a damn good memory for faces and this was _not_ how they wanted to be meeting their new Commandant. "Now!"

That seemed to break the spell. "Yes sir!" They scurried out, muttering excuses and complaints, those who weren't involved in the fight no doubt pissed that they would be punished alongside the guilty. As far as Pike was concerned not a single one of them had done anything to intervene and that was as damning as throwing a punch in his book.

As the last of them scurried past him, he looked down at the kid sprawled over the table. He looked…well he looked like he'd just had his ass kicked by four guys. His whole face was one bloody, swollen mess. "You alright son?" He asked, his tone not as harsh as it had been with his cadets.

The kid rolled his head to get a better look at him. "You can whistle really loud, you know that?"

Of all the things he expected to hear, that was not one of them. He frowned at the kid and tilted his head for a better look at him.

No. No, it wasn't possible.

Nine years… it had been nine damn years. There was no possible way that he'd find the boy _here_, in Iowa of all places, as drunk from the blows to the head as he was the alcohol.

But he knew those eyes, he saw them so often in his nightmares; wide and scared as he begged Pike to save him; cold and narrow as they laid the blame for failure rightfully at his feet.

They were the same blue eyes that taunted him from the portrait of George Kirk that hung in the Senior Officer's Mess.

_Jim._

"I'mma throw up." The kid mumbled, rolling off the table and landing on wobbly legs. He stumbled off towards the bathroom. Either he was too drunk to recognize Pike, or he _wasn't_ James Kirk.

Or he was still pissed at Pike for everything that had happened.

He made his way over to the bartender, who didn't look as put out by the ousting of ninety percent of his clientele as one might expect. "Who is that kid?" Pike asked, utterly unwilling to believe that after Jim had run away from Professor Sato's home he had then spent nine years of his life _here._ He hated Iowa more than Pike did. He had good cause.

"Credit chip says he's Jimi Hendrix." The bartender said with a midwestern twang.

Pike's lip twitched. "And you believe him?"

"Might have done if I hadn't gone to school with the bastard. That's Jimmy Kirk."

Pike ran his hand over his jaw then pulled a card out of his pocket and slid it over the bar. "Any damage costs, send them here."

The bartender shrugged and pocketed it.

Pike headed outside to find two rows of petrified cadets and the four brawlers all nursing their wounds. It was entirely unprofessional, but he felt a small stab of pride. A least Jim had put up a fight. One _hell_ of a fight if the moaning and groaning was to be believed.

He walked down the line. "Anyone want to tell me what the hell happened in there?"

There was dead silence, then a dark haired woman stood forward. "It's my fault, Captain." She said, her expression calm and her eyes front.

Pike's lip twitched. Of course. There was _always_ a pretty girl involved in these things. "Oh? You threw the first punch?" She hesitated. "Get back in line Cadet." He told her, turning back to face the four bleeding men at the end of the line. "Shall we try again?"

"The townie started it, Sir." One of them protested. He had two wicked black eyes and a split lip. "He was hassling Cadet Uhura. We were just trying to look out for our own."

"I see." Pike nodded. "And did Cadet Uhura ask for your help?" They hesitated. Pike looked down the line. "Cadet?"

"No sir." Uhura said, her jaw tight.

"And did you feel threatened? In your opinion, Cadet, were the actions taken by your classmates in proportion to situation at hand?"

"No sir." This time she was more firm. Interesting. So she disapproved. She had been the one trying to break up the fight. The only one, for that matter. "He was just a dumb guy. I don't think he meant any harm."

Pike nodded slowly. "You'll all be pleased to hear that you're starting your second year with thirty hours to walk off. I will not tolerate fighting, nor do I approve of cowardice. You all swore to uphold the Honor Code and tonight's behavior will be reported to your brigade commander. Now back to the barracks. Not you." He stopped the four before they could scamper with the rest of their class. "Stop by room 411, have Doctor McCoy check you over. He gives you the okay or you'll report to Medical upon our return and stay there as long as he deems necessary." He could see the grimace on their faces. They were due back on the first day of the new year and the return ceremony was always a highlight of the calendar. "Dismissed."

He got four sharp salutes and a "Yes, sir!" As tempted as they might be to not seek medical attention, they wouldn't be that stupid. Pike could almost imagine the look on McCoy's face when they interrupted his evening. The man might be a medical genius and a real coup for recruitment this year, but he had the worst temper Pike had ever seen on a doctor. And he'd seen some pretty terrifying doctors in his time.

By the time the last cadet was gone, Pike stepped back into the bar.

"He's still puking." Was the only comment he got from the bar tender.

Pike grimaced and pulled out his PADD. He needed to access local databases to find Jim and was hardly surprised by what little information they had on file. His school records between the ages of ten and twelve, his hospital records for the same period and one disturbingly long entry at the age of fourteen, then nothing at all until age twenty.

Then he had the unpleasant churn of nausea in his gut as he read over Jim's arrest report. He'd put a man in hospital in an incident not unlike tonight's. When they'd tried to restrain him, he'd broken his arresting officer's arm in three places. It was probably for that reason they locked him up for a first time offense. Jim had not hired legal advice, he hadn't made any attempt at his own defense, just quietly acknowledged all charges and to all intents and purposes, served out his sentence as a model prisoner. He'd been released…

…eleven hours ago. Jesus Christ but the kid didn't exactly waste any time did he?

Pike shook his head, his frustration and sorrow growing as he accessed Jim's medical records from his time spent inside. They'd done full scans after bringing him in and repaired damage to almost sixty percent of his body. Broken bones that had not healed correctly, wounds that had not been treated with a regen unit… what the hell had Jim been doing? Where had he been that meant he'd not been able to access proper medical care? They'd treated him for alcohol abuse and noted traces of several illegal drugs in his system, though while he readily admitted to alcoholism he maintained he did not have a substance abuse problem.

Pike closed the file, feeling sick.

He opened the kid's rehabilitation folder and finally caught a glimpse of the Jim he'd once known. His aptitude tests were… well Pike had never encountered any that high. He'd scored full marks in maths, science and languages with citations for problem solving and creative thinking. He'd taken post graduate classes in chemistry, engineering, physics and computer science, though not enough to achieve a degree in any one field.

One of Jim's major projects had been in bio-genetics - agriculture of all things. Pike opened his proposal and swallowed down a lump in his throat. _Quadrotriticale presents a 87% increase in immunity to biological and chemical pathogens, reducing the risk of widespread crop failure by 48%._

Jesus, Jim.

His psych reports were bullshit. They'd been bullshit after Tarsus and nothing had changed.

He closed the file. How was this man the same little boy who'd come to him for bedtime stories?

How the hell had Pike let this happen?

He was still digesting the news when Jim stumbled out of the bathroom, little rolls of napkins stuffed up his nose to stem the bleeding. He smelled like he'd thrown up, but he'd clearly not made any effort to clean away the blood that covered his face. Pike couldn't help but remember him at twelve, equally as battered and those damned eyes…

He knew Jim must recognize him. A few more wrinkles and a couple of gray hairs aside, he'd not changed a bit since he'd last seen the kid.

Jim wobbled back over to the bar and reclaimed what Pike presumed was his glass, eyeing the amber liquid cautiously before taking a long gulp.

"Have a seat, son." Pike said, directing Jim to the table he'd just had his face pounded on and dragging over a second seat. Jim looked between it and his drink, then shrugged and fell sideways into the chair.

In the time Jim had been puking in the bathroom, the rest of the bar had cleared out, leaving them alone with just a disinterested bartender and a hell of a mess to clean up.

Jim squirmed out of his jacket and dumped the worn leather over the back of his chair before fiddling with his napkins. There was blood on his shirt and beer in his hair and an air of apathy that grated on Pike's every nerve.

"You know I couldn't believe it when the bartender told me who you are." Pike said. If Jim wasn't going to acknowledge their past then he'd have to work around it.

Jim picked up his drink and shot him a scornful look. "Who am I, Captain Pike?" Observant little shit, wasn't he? Pike wasn't wearing any rank or insignia.

He had to play this carefully. There was no way he was losing the boy now, not after all this time.

Jim might still be the same hurting, angry, bitter young man they'd recovered from Tarsus, but Pike certainly wasn't the same man. He wasn't about to let Jim run him off this time.

"Your father's son." George had always been a sore point for the Kirk boys. Sam, more so than Jim. Sam remembered his father, but to Jim he was just another person who'd let him down. As expected, his words won him a mutinous glance from Jim. It was impressive, really, that the kid could be even half way intimidating with those damn napkins hanging out of his nose.

Instead of answering, Jim turned over his shoulder. "Can I get another one?"

Pike resisted the urge to shoot the bartender should he even think about it. He needed to pick his battles carefully here.

So he told Jim something he'd not done before. "For my dissertation I was assigned the USS Kelvin." He'd never told Jim that, he'd been too young to understand, he'd have taken the attention Pike showed him as a sign that Pike was more interested in his dad than him. For all his smarts, the kid had always had a horribly vulnerable heart. "That was something I admired about your dad. He didn't believe in no win scenarios."

Jim scoffed and pulled the napkins out of his nose as a bottle was delivered to the table. "Sure learned his lesson."

"Depends on how you define winning. You're here, aren't you?" He wasn't enough of a bastard to say 'your dad died saving your life, try not throwing it away on the floor of a shitty bar', but he figured Jim would hear the words as they were intended.

He ignored Pike and thanked the bartender, pouring himself a large measure of whiskey.

Pike wasn't about to quit. He'd faced worse things in his life than sullen boys who didn't know how to accept the help that was being offered them. "You know that instinct to leap without looking was in his nature too, and in my opinion something Starfleet has lost." He was not thinking about his damn ship when he spoke.

Jim laughed and shook his head. "Why are you talking to me, man?" He asked. Why was Pike bothering with him…that's what he was really saying. Those eyes didn't lie even if the kid's mouth was spouting bullshit at warp five.

"Because I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor. Your aptitude tests are off the chart, so what is it? You _like_ being the only genius level repeat offender in the midwest?"

_Where the hell have you been, Jim? What have you been doing?_

_Where exactly do you plan on going? We both know you've got nowhere._

"Maybe I love it?" Jim said bitterly.

This conversation should not even be necessary. If he'd taken Jim when he'd had the chance…if he'd fought harder for him when the kid had desperately needed him to… who knew where he'd be? Already in Starfleet? Somewhere else? College perhaps? No one that smart should be denied that kind of education.

But here they were. One broken kid with nothing left to lose and one old man with everything to atone for.

For all that a part of him wanted to speak to the boy as he once had, gentle and kind, knowing exactly how little of both Jim had in the rest of his life, he knew that wasn't the way forward.

Jim didn't need coddling. He needed a kick up the ass. He needed what he clearly had never had from anyone - guidance. And discipline.

Pike kept the same level voice. "So your dad dies you can settle for a less than ordinary life, or do you feel like you were meant for something better?" Anyone who had known Jim as a little boy had commented on how far he was going to go, how great a man he'd grow up to be. Pike had seen it and he could tell Jim still had no clue. "Something special."

Jim's face was still, thoughtful. Pike pushed. "Enlist in Starfleet."

"Enlist?" Jim laughed again, looking like Pike had just told him the funniest joke. Pike _wished_ he was joking. He had no idea how he was even going to square it with Command, he just knew it had to be done. "You guys must be way down on your recruitment quota for the month."

"If you're half the man your father was, Jim, Starfleet could use you. You can be an officer in four years…you can have your own ship in eight." And that would be his course. Pike knew what Jim had done on Tarsus…he could guess what he'd done in the years following. The boy had a natural gift for command and he'd been kicking Pike's ass in chess since he was six. A born tactician, one who had crafted every response, every reaction for the sole purpose of survival. Jim Kirk knew how to go down to blood and bone and come out on top. A man like that, given the right environment and support…he could flourish into something history would remember.

"You understand what the Federation is, don't you? It's important peacekeeping and humanitarian armada." He regretted that the moment he said it. Jim knew, had depended on it, and had been failed by it.

His expression closed off, his eyes cold. "Are we done?"

"I'm done." Pike said, looking at him and forcing himself to do so with eyes unclouded by the love he'd felt for the child Jim had once been. It was obvious that boy was as long dead as he'd feared.

Jim turned his attention back to his drink.

"Riverside shipyard. The shuttle leaves tomorrow oh-seven hundred." He got a salute with Jim's glass for his trouble and picked his parting words carefully, appealing not to Jimmy, but to the man in front of him and everything he could put together about the kind of person he was.

"Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives, including your moms, and yours." He saw Jim swallow and finally look him in the eyes. "I dare you to do better."


	3. Chapter 3

The loud banging on his door drew Leonard McCoy out of what had been a half-way decent attempt to pickle his own liver. He set the bottle down on the fold out desk and scowled at the closed door. "Fuck off!" He yelled, numb fingers scrabbling for the bottle top.

"You McCoy?" A voice called through hesitantly.

"Who wants to know?" He wasn't even certain why he was engaging with a voice that could very well be a figment of his imagination.

"Captain Pike sent us."

"Good for Captain Pike, now get lost!" There wasn't nearly enough liquor left in the bottle. He could dig out one of his hip flasks, but they were emergency use only and this wasn't an emergency. Yet.

Looking around at the bland walls and impersonal furniture of the private dorm room, McCoy couldn't help laughing bitterly. Six months ago he'd been drinking vintage wines at some of the most expensive restaurants in Atlanta. He'd had a wife other men drooled over in envy and a beautiful baby girl who smiled whenever she saw him. He'd had the perfect life. The best job, the best friends, a home to be proud of...

He'd still had his father.

Six months. That was all it had taken for him to completely destroy everything he'd ever loved.

The banging started again. "McCoy!"

"_What?_" McCoy shouted. Couldn't they just leave him in peace? Anyone with half a brain could tell he didn't want the company.

Though he supposed if peace and privacy were what he was wanting, joining Starfleet had hardly been his best idea.

Who was he kidding? Joining Starfleet had been the worst idea. He'd been drunk when he'd signed the papers. Drunk, depressed and miserable, a combination that meant he cared little for the delight on his recruiters face when he handed over his ID for verification. Apparently he was a 'big catch' for them.

He supposed, objectively speaking, he was. False modesty wasn't something he believed in. He was a damn fine doctor, or he had been. Georgia's rising star.

"We need a doctor!" The voice on the other side of his door yelled.

McCoy threw the bottle back down in disgust. Why hadn't they started with that, goddamn morons? Stomping to the door, he opened it with a clumsy slap of his hand.

The four kids on the other side were all various shades of black and blue. McCoy was not impressed. "Well?" He demanded, waiting on an answer.

Though they'd clearly come to his door with their dicks in one hand and their egos in the other, in the face of McCoy's irritation they hesitated. "We, er…Captain Pike sent us to see you."

"I see." McCoy said.

"Can…can we come in?" The biggest, a kid with questionable facial hair, took a step forward. McCoy refused to be intimidated. He might be a doctor but he was no shrinking violet.

McCoy scowled and jerked his head towards the room, as much an invitation as they'd get. He found his tricorder under his jacket and scanned the first one of them over.

"Picking fights, huh?" He said, recognizing the signs. "You morons don't get enough physical activity you gotta start shooting for fights in whatever podunk town you come across?"

"We didn't start it." One of them protested mulishly.

"You didn't finish it either by the looks of things." McCoy snorted. "Sit your ass down and don't bleed on my stuff."

"You're not a very nice doctor."

"You're not a very smart cadet." McCoy responded waspishly. He fetched a couple of ice packs out of his bag and threw them over. "Get frostin'." He ordered. "You piss each other off or can I expect another troop of dumbasses traipsing in here after you lot?"

They shared a heavy glance between themselves. "I think Pike's talking to him."

McCoy's eyebrow shot up. "Him? Singular him? You chuckleheads got the shit kicked out of you by one guy?"

"Your bedside manner sucks, doc." The big one said, practically pouting.

"You jackasses interrupted a perfectly good evening to bleed all over my room. You're lucky I'm not sedating your sorry hides and mailing you to the local ER." McCoy turned back to the one he was treating and set his tricorder down. "You," he turned to one of them.

"I'm Hendroff."

"I don't care what your name is." McCoy growled. "Go wrap your buddies' wrist. You _have_ had your basic responder training, yes?"

Hendroff glared at him. "Yes."

"Good. Keep the pressure even, firm but not too tight. I'll check on it when I'm done cleaning the contents of a dive bar out of this idiot's face." He used a pair of tweezers to pick shards of glass out of the cadet's cheek. Fortunately for him there hadn't been any serious damage to the bone, but he was lucky. "Any higher and you could have lost an eye. Next time duck, yes?"

He was shot four mutinous glares but at least they had stopped trying to talk to him.

It took an hour to clean them all up, and surprisingly he actually felt better by the time he was done. Doing his job, taking care of people, it was grounding. These kids might be idiots and he couldn't help them with that, but he could at least patch them up, and if lecturing them stopped their stupidity from becoming terminal then all the better.

He'd just kicked them out of his room with instructions to rest and keep an eye on the kid who'd taken the bottle to his head when his comm chimed.

"McCoy." He snapped.

_"Doctor. I take it you've seen to the cadets I sent you?"_ McCoy wasn't sure what to make of Pike. On the one hand he seemed reasonable, fair…on the other he clearly had as little desire to be there as McCoy did, well hidden thought his emotions were. _"I'm sorry for interrupting your evening."_

"They'll live." McCoy said. "I'll send you over the reports in the morning."

_"Thank you."_

"What about the other guy?" McCoy asked. Okay, so he might want nothing more than to climb into bed and continue drinking, but he couldn't in good conscious neglect someone who might need medical care. He'd give the bastard one hell of a blistering, but he'd treat him all the same.

_"Not your concern, Doctor. Thank you for your time."_

"Thank you for…Pi- Captain Pike, if he's even half as messed up as these kids were then he needs someone to look him over."

_"He's a civilian. I can't force him to seek medical attention."_

McCoy bit his tongue. "Right."

_"Good night, doctor. I'll see you on the shuttle."_

Pike hung up and McCoy reached desperately for the bottle again.

The shuttle.

Right.

God fucking help him.

* * *

Morning came with a hangover and a whole new nightmare. He'd been drunk the last time he'd been on a shuttle and to be fair, he was still pretty messed up this time. He stumbled into the flying deathtrap, noting the kids he'd treated the night before were still alive and looking better now they were clean and in fresh uniform. McCoy barely paid them any attention and made a beeline for the bathroom.

He was going to throw up.

Studiously avoiding his reflection in the small mirror, McCoy splashed water on his face and tried not to hyperventilate.

He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to join Starfleet. He didn't want to spend his time with all these bright, cheerful faces and pretend that he was one of them.

He wanted to go home.

He was twenty-eight, too old to be starting his life from scratch. He liked his old life. He wanted that back.

He could do it. Turn around and get off this damn metal coffin. Walk back to Georgia if he had to.

He could march up to Joce and punch Clay Treadway in his smug, backstabbing face. He could walk out of the house _he_ bought with his baby girl, go back to his momma's and-

And say what? Sorry I ran? Sorry I let dad die? Sorry I failed? Sorry I wasn't fast enough? Sorry I wasn't smart enough?

Sorry I murdered your husband.

Yeah. No. He might be a spineless coward but he was a spineless coward who could damn well suck it up and deal with the cards he'd dealt himself.

He couldn't go back home. There wasn't a home _for_ him to go back to.

This was all he had.

"Sir? Sir, you need to take a seat." McCoy spun around, grasping the edge of the basin as the door was opened and a woman in uniform stuck her head into the bathroom.

"Yeah," McCoy swallowed, "just, um, one minute."

"We're taking off." She said, not unkindly but clearly unwilling to take any bullshit. "Do you need a doctor?"

"I am a doctor." McCoy said, turning his back on her and trying to get his breathing under control.

"Sir?"

"Oh god I'm gonna throw up." McCoy blanched as the engines fired on and the vibrations traveled through the walls. Thin walls. Very thin. Too thin. Christ, he was going to die. He was going to die and-

"You need a doctor." The woman said, gently taking his arm and pulling him out of his nice, safe little spot.

"I don't need a doctor, damnit, I _am_ a doctor!" McCoy protested helplessly.

"You need to take a seat." She said again, looking him up and down the once and seeing he clearly wasn't as close to dying as his voice indicated.

"I had a one!" McCoy looked back over his shoulder, "in the bathroom with no windows!"

She didn't seem impressed by his protests. "You need to get back to your seat now."

Despite him flailing his arm in the direction of a perfectly functioning seat - of a sort- in the bathroom she continued to hustle him towards the rows of cadets all nicely buckled in like sardines waiting to be pulverized by a giant, soulless, soundless black machine of death and-

"I suffer from aviophobia! That means fear of dying in something that flies!"

"Sir, for your own safety sit down or else I'll make you sit down!" For a short thing, she didn't half have a glare on her. McCoy might be a foot taller, but he'd never hit a woman before in his life and he wasn't about to start even if his every instinct was telling him to bulldoze his way through everyone between him and the door.

Knowing that every set of eyes in the shuttle were on him, McCoy sneered and nodded awkwardly before taking the only seat left available and tugging furiously at the safety belts.

"Thank you." She said, storming off to take her own seat.

_"This is Captain Pike, we're cleared for take off." _Oh christ…

"I may throw up on ya." He said, feeling it only polite to forewarn the poor bastard sat next to him. He was surprised to see a beat up kid looking about as rough as he felt instead of another polished red.

The kid eyed him warily. "I think these things are pretty safe." He said.

McCoy snorted. Oh _sure_ they were safe. He'd read the statistics. Safe his ass. "Don't pander to me, kid. One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. or a solar flare might crop up and cook us in our seats…" he shoved the buckle of the harness into it's lock, unable to stop the long list of horrible and painful ways he was going to probably die on this stupid shuttle from pouring out. "And wait 'will you're sittin' pretty with a case'a Andorian Shingles. See if you're so relaxed when your eyeballs are bleedin'. Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence." And he was going up there. God help him, he was a grade A idiot.

The kid seemed to share his opinions. "I hate to break this to you but Starfleet _operates_ in space." The clue was in the name.

McCoy swallowed down on the fear and bitterness and reached for his medication. He still had a flask of his daddy's whiskey to work through and this was the perfect time to do it.

"Yeah, well, I got nowhere else to go. Ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce." And then some. "All I got left is my bones." He took a sip of the whiskey and let the burn soothe him before looking back over at the kid. He looked like he needed a drink just as bad. He held out the flask.

That got him a surprised title of the head as the kid reached out. "Jim Kirk," he said, tipping the flask in a salute of greeting then handing it back over.

"McCoy. Leonard McCoy." He took another sip then fastened the lid as the shuttle began to shake on take off. He closed his eyes and gripped his knees hard, trying to remember what solid, stable, safe earth felt like beneath him.

Why was he doing this? Why why why why…

"Georgia, right?" He opened one eye and glanced over at Kirk who looked completely okay with the fact that they were in a goddamn flying tincan. "The accent."

"Savannah." McCoy responded gruffly. He didn't want to think about home, but it was a damn sight better than relaying the shuttle crash statistics he'd read on repeat.

"Nice. Hear you guy's have got good peaches."

That made McCoy snort. "There's more to Georgia than goddamn peaches." He grumbled.

Kirk grinned at him. "Not what I heard."

"Oh really? And you're a damn expert are you?"

The kid shrugged. "I get around."

"Yeah," McCoy said, both eyes open now as he gave Kirk the professional once over. "I can see that."

"This?" Kirk waved him off absently. "Small misunderstanding. No big deal.

"Uh huh. This 'no big deal' wouldn't have been in the form of four cadets built like brick shit houses now would it?" McCoy asked, thinking of the kids he'd treated last night.

_This_ kid was the one who had done that much damage? "Maybe." Kirk smirked. With a look like that McCoy wasn't surprised someone had punched him in the face. Obnoxious little shit.

McCoy reached out to probe at the wicked looking bruise stretched out over Kirk's eye and cheek. He was surprised when the kid pulled back defensively, but didn't apologize. "I'm a doctor."

"I heard." Kirk smirked again, no doubt trying to cover his flinch.

"Looks like you fractured something." He said, pressing in again and touching the hot, swollen flesh. Kirk stubbornly held his ground this time, not quite glaring at McCoy.

"I'll live."

"That your professional opinion?" McCoy asked him. "What other damage you hiding? Did you actually get any kind of treatment?" The shuttle suddenly jerked and McCoy closed his eyes, swallowing nervously. "Christ."

When he opened them again he realized he had a death grip on the kid's arm and Kirk was eyeing him curiously. "You're really freaked out." He said, almost like he'd not believed McCoy could possibly have a problem with his own imminent death.

He jerked his hand away from Kirk's arm and didn't say anything. He was lucky he was still breathing regularly.

"Yo, doc?" Kirk said firmly, forcing McCoy to open his eyes and glare at him.

"You gonna finish giving me the once over or not?"

"What?"

Kirk held out his right hand, shoving a fist full of bloody, swollen knuckles into McCoy's line of sight.

"Jesus Christ." McCoy grumbled, automatically reaching out and assessing the damage. He'd need his scanner to actually get a full idea of what kind of mess the kid had made of himself and was suddenly furious that Pike hadn't forced Kirk to come see him before. That cheekbones was most likely fractured and he'd be lucky if he didn't have a concussion. "What were you fighting? Brick walls?"

"One of 'em felt like it." Kirk said with a wry grin. "Think I might have popped a couple of knuckles."

McCoy ran his fingers gently over the swollen joints and nodded. "Feels like it."

"I don't think anything's broken." Kirk continued.

"You get into a lot of fights, do you?" McCoy asked absently, taking Kirk's other hand. The bruises weren't stretched over his fist, but when McCoy pushed his sleeve up he saw them faintly stretching the length of his arm. Defensive wounds.

It _had_ been four against one. Kid was lucky he wasn't hurt worse.

"More than I'd like." Kirk shrugged.

McCoy wasn't sure what to make of that statement so said nothing.

Eventually he let Kirk pull his hands back. "Thanks, doc." Kirk said, flashing him a winning smile.

McCoy grunted. "You'll need to report to medical when we dock. Get someone to look over that eye of yours."

"Sure." Kirk said easily, reaching down to unfasten his harness.

McCoy looked up in shock as the other cadets were doing similar.

They'd landed. It was over.

How the hell…?

Kirk stood up and flashed him another one of those smiles. It was slightly dazzling, even if McCoy's head was already swimming with bemusement. "I'll see ya' around, doc. Thanks for the drink."

And with that he sauntered off with the sea of departing cadets, leaving McCoy in his seat, somehow feeling like he'd been hit around the head with a baseball bat.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim stepped out of the shuttle and felt the heavy air of San Francisco Bay hit him full force. He'd not been back in years. Not since he'd left the house Hoshi-san had been renting for them and the familiarity sunk into his bones, wrapping around him in an oddly comforting embrace. He'd always moved around a lot. Always, and he very rarely went back to the same place twice - usually because he'd burned all his bridges (and often the surrounding areas). Coming back here, knowing he was going to _live_ here, it felt…

It felt kinda nice.

It was possible that was the hangover talking.

Jim let himself drift with the press of bodies until Pike was at his arm, pulling him away from the hanger and leading him towards a large quad.

He'd been there before, a long time ago. Cochrane Hall stretched out large and gleaming in the early morning sun, cadets hurrying to their classes up and down the steps. Every time someone passed Pike they snapped off a salute and Pike nodded in response. He was going to have to do that. The salute thing. The respect thing.

He wasn't going to last five minutes.

The physical stuff would be a walk in the park he was sure. He was fitter than he'd ever been in his life - fitter than when he'd been spending the majority of his time bouncing from one war zone to another with various bounties on his head and people raring for his blood. Push-ups and sprints would hardly phase him.

The academic stuff he'd be fine with. He was a quick study, always had been, and he _liked_ learning, though he'd rather someone stab him in the eyeball than actually admit to the fact.

But the discipline? The jumping and saluting and the _sir, yes sir-ing_? That was going to be tough.

Still, he liked a challenge. He'd committed to doing this when he'd gotten on that shuttle, though all the reasons he'd given himself for doing so were currently escaping his memory.

He would just have to suck it up. He'd done worse. How hard could it actually be?

Pike was leading him towards the Administration offices when Jim's feet stopped working. They were in the middle of one of the larger quads, grassy rec areas on either side of what looked like a library.

That wasn't what held Jim's attention.

Pike stopped and frowned at him, then followed his gaze towards the large bronze statue glinting in the sunlight.

Jim swallowed.

Guess his mom had been right all alone. He _did_ look just like his dad.

"They unveiled it two years ago." Pike said quietly. "For the twentieth anniversary."

What could Jim really say? Starfleet were commissioning statues of his father while Jim was sitting on his ass in a prison cell.

It almost hurt to tear his eyes away. Of course Jim had seen pictures of his father, his official Fleet portrait and a couple from various people who had been smart enough not to show them to Jim in Winona's presence, but…

…but this was different. This was George Kirk, life-sized and perfect and a part of Jim just wanted to stand there and stare at him all day.

He didn't dare look at Pike for fear of what he'd see, so Jim fixed on a smile and tipped his head curiously. "So, where are we going?"

To Pike's credit, he didn't call Jim out on his bullshit and they continued on towards the Admin block. "You are going to fill out your enrollment forms." Pike said, "I am going to call your parole officer and explain exactly why you won't be showing up for your meeting."

Jim hid a cringe behind a bright grin. He'd never be ashamed of the fact that he'd served time. He'd been ashamed of the reason _why_ he had, and it was because of that he'd kept his head down and seen through his sentence. He'd broken into and out of worse places than a medium security prison before. He'd stayed because it was the right thing to do. A little bit of well deserved penance. He wasn't about to let Pike change how he felt about that.

But even without meaning to, he _was._ He'd always been like that where Pike was concerned. Wanting to be better. To be worth something...to deserve his attention. This was why he'd distanced himself from the man in the first place.

This was why joining Starfleet was a monumentally stupid idea.

"Right," Jim said, "I'll, er…fill in forms I guess."

"As best you can." Pike nodded. "You can put me down as your sponsor."

Jim blinked. "I can?"

A smile tipped the edge of Pike's mouth. "Yes Jim."

"Oh." Jim swallowed. "Okay then."

* * *

Filling out forms was not, it turned out, as simple as Jim had expected.

Starfleet, in true bureaucratic fashion, wanted to know everything about his life.

Which.

Yeah.

Not happening.

Still, Jim filled in what he could then handed the PADD back over to the stern-faced woman manning the desk.

"You've left out your education history." She told him, frowning at the data.

"And your next of kin. And…I'm sorry, did you actually answer any of the questions?"

"Sure." Jim said brightly, leaning over the desk to point at the parts he'd filled.

"See, that there is my name, and there's my date of birth, and that's my blood type."

"We need a little bit more to work with than that." She said, handing him back the PADD. "What's your permanent address?"

"Er…1187 Gagarin Drive, San Francisco." Jim said, slipping his hands into the back pocket of his jeans.

The woman had started to type then paused. "That's _this_ address."

Jim nodded. "Yes it is."

_"Previous_ address?" She tried, her frustration growing. It wasn't like Jim was _trying_ to be a pain in the ass-

-well, not trying very hard at least.

"North Central Correctional Facility, 313 Lanedale, Rockwell City-" Jim recited, feeling a little guilty at the wide eyed look of alarm on her face. He wondered what she would have said if he'd come out with the place he'd very nearly ended up in. He'd triggered some red flags by breaking a police officer's arm and the prosecutor had wanted to see him in Iowa State…a maximum security facility with something of a bad reputation even now. Jim had shrugged his shoulders and said that was fine by him, but if they put him in Gen Pop he'd probably end up with a murder rap added to his sheet. He supposed he could thank Frank for that if nothing else. As disliked as Jim had been they weren't about to put him in jail with a man who was banged up for beating the shit out of him as a kid.

"Next of kin?"

"Depicted in bronze outside." Jim said shortly, rapidly losing his sense of humor. All these damn questions were just making it more and more obvious that there was something wrong with him.

"Thank you, Jane, I'll deal with Mr Kirk from here." Jim turned and grabbed the hand that reached for his shoulder a moment before it touched him. The man standing behind him looked back with cool, distant blue eyes and an unflinching gaze.

Jim had encountered Alexander Marcus only the once, back at his mom's funeral. He'd given the usual bullshit condolences and patted Jim on the shoulder. Jim had been in a daze for most of the day and hadn't really paid him much attention.

He wasn't sure if it was awareness or experience this time, but Marcus freaked him the fuck out.

The Admiral looked pointedly at where Jim had a grip on his arm. Jim let him go with a shaky smile. "Oops?"

"I see your instincts are still sharp despite sitting on your ass for two years." Marcus said.

"It was prison, not Candy Land." Jim frowned.

"Yes, so I've heard. You've been a busy man, Mr Kirk." Marcus said, holding his arm out and indicating that Jim should follow him into a lift.

"Pike said-"

"Captain Pike can wait for you here." Marcus said as the door closed on them. "So you want to join Starfleet." It wasn't a question but Jim couldn't help his hackles rising.

"It was that or the circus."

"Can the attitude, Kirk." Marcus said gruffly. "Unlike Pike I know exactly who you are and what you're capable of."

"And what is that, Admiral?" Jim asked cooly.

Marcus looked amused. "Great things, Kirk. Great, terrible things."

"You make me sound like a threat." Jim said mildly. So far Marcus hadn't actually admitted to knowing anything more about him than anyone with a grain of intelligence could guess, but he couldn't shake the knowledge that somehow, Marcus _knew everything_.

"I think you could be, given the right incentive."

"Well you don't know much about me then do you?" Jim was an asshole. He was an asshole, and he made stupid choices and sometimes those choices hurt people. Sometimes _he_ hurt people. But he was hardly a Federation wide threat. Even at his very worst days he'd kept his attentions fixed on the kind of people who'd deserved it. He'd never, not for all his many sins, shed innocent blood.

"I know enough. What I don't know is why you are here. What can Starfleet do for you, Mr Kirk?" Marcus let them out of the lift on the top floor and led Jim out onto an open rooftop. The whole city stretched out before them, glass and glistening blue sea. From up here, Jim felt apart from everything in a way he never had before.

"Maybe I want to change the world?" Jim smirked, holding his ground even as his every instinct told him to get the hell away. Bitter experience had told him exactly what it meant when people gave him the look Marcus was currently giving him. Marcus wanted something from him. Something Jim probably should not be giving away.

But hell, what exactly did he have left to lose?

"I think you want stability." Marcus said shrewdly. "I think that's why you sat around in jail twiddling your damn thumbs. You've spent a lot of time running away from things, haven't you Jim? From your uncle, from Tarsus."

"What do you know about that?" Jim snarled, his throat tight.

Marcus smiled. It wasn't friendly. "I'm head of Starfleet Operations, Kirk. It's my job to know. I know what Kodos was trying to teach you and I know what he did to you. I know why he almost succeeded." Jim backed away until there was nowhere left to go. How the hell did he get himself into these messes? He didn't want to think about Tarsus. He didn't want to think about _him_. Marcus didn't follow him. He let Jim have his space. "He was going to give you what you want, wasn't he? What you've always wanted?"

"And what's that?" Jim struggled to speak against the tightness of his throat. He'd not thought about these things in so long. He'd done everything he could to avoid it. Alcohol, sex, drugs, violence. Whatever it took…_however much it took_. He'd gotten damn good at recognizing the warning signs and now he just walked into it with his eyes wide open…

"A home." Marcus said. "A _family._ Starfleet can give you that."

Jim scoffed. What did he need with family? He'd had a family once, look how that had turned out. They were either dead or Jim wished they were. Except Pike. Pike was - Jim shook off the thought. "Yeah, and what's it gonna cost me?"

"So cynical, Mr Kirk."Marcus said, patronizingly.

"If you know me half as well as you say you do then you shouldn't be surprised." Jim glared. Everything had a price. Sometimes you just didn't know what it was going to be until it was too late.

"What I want from you is nothing more than you can afford to give. I want you to be James Kirk, the hero's son, following in his father's footsteps. Starfleet's had some bad press these last few years. People need something to aspire to. Show up on parade on Remembrance Day, say a few nice words once a year about how much you admired dear old dad and try not to get into too many fights in the mean time. Keep your class ranking up, show me what Kodos was so impressed with. _Assimilate._ You agree to that, I'll sign off on you admittance. I'll even support this crazy three year scheme of yours."

"Pike told you?"

Marcus nodded. "Right now he's arguing your case to the Academic Board. He's desperate to do the right thing by you, feels responsible for all the bad shit that's happened. I imagine it'd break his heart if he knew exactly what you've been up to all these years. He'll do anything to persuade them to let you in, including cashing some favors he really shouldn't be letting go of just yet. They aren't all so impressed with your record and they don't have my…inside information."

Jim suddenly laughed. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"Kirk, if I was blackmailing you, you would not be laughing." Marcus said, his expression carved from ice.

"I dunno, I've got a pretty warped sense of humor." Jim shrugged.

It was tempting, what Marcus was offering. Pay lip service to his dad when the press came calling in return for…something he couldn't yet define. Something he'd felt when he'd driven Coots's bike around all night, searching for answers and finding himself looking up at the shell of a ship more beautiful than anything he'd ever laid his eyes on.

Marcus wasn't asking much. At least not yet. Jim wasn't stupid. He showed weakness once and how long would it be before Marcus was asking for more to hold up his end of the deal? Could he risk it?

It would be stupid.

It would be reckless.

It would be…exactly the type of dumbass thing Jim Kirk was famous for.

He'd played chicken with some powerful people before. Maybe this was just the next step up?

"So?" Marcus prompted, "you going to toe the line, Kirk or should I be calling security to escort you off the premises?"

Jim looked down over the edge of the roof at the swarm of red milling in and out of buildings. He could be one of them. He could be Cadet James Kirk, Starfleet instead of…

…well, he wasn't really anything else, was he?

"Where do I sign?"

* * *

He was still back before Pike, bouncing his knee against his palm, thrumming with excitement and bursting to get stuck in. He waited a whole hour before Pike came to pick him back up and tried to contain his impatience. It probably wasn't as easy as waving a magic wand, no matter what Marcus said.

As soon as he saw the Captain approach he was on his feet. "How did it go?" He asked, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he was.

Pike flashed him a small smile. "Keep your nose down and try not to attract too much attention, okay?" He said, walking with Jim outside into the quad. "They took some convincing but it's sorted. Congratulations Cadet Kirk." He clapped Jim on the shoulder. Unlike with Marcus, Jim didn't flinch. He actually rather liked the contact.

"Does this mean I get to wear the uniform?" Jim asked, grinning broadly and for once not faking it.

Pike smiled indulgently. "Yes Jim, you get to wear the uniform."

"Sweet!"


	5. Chapter 5

Let the bromance commence!

Betad once again by the marvelous Tishbing!

* * *

McCoy's semi-drunken state had deepened into the hangover from hell. He wished he could say he'd never felt so miserable before but that would have been a lie. He'd been drunk or hungover now for the best part of six months.

The vaguely homicidal feelings were new though.

If he ever saw that bastard recruiter again he was going to do something very unpleasant to the man's testicles. Join Starfleet. See the fucking Universe.

_His ass._

Since being herded through processing like the rest of the idiots who'd signed their lives away, McCoy had collected a ridiculous amount of clothing - uniforms, PT kit, boots, shoes, _underwear_ - been allocated a dorm he'd seen for all of ten seconds, sat around for two hours waiting to see his new Academic Advisor, stared at his class schedule with something akin to horror and spent three more hours listening to Starfleet Medical Academy's orientation lecture.

There was a lot to learn about being a cadet in Starfleet. They needed to know who to salute (pretty much everyone) and how (harder than it looked). They needed to know what privileges they had (practically none), the difference between a Lt. Commander, a Commander and a Commodore (mix them up at their peril, apparently) and why exactly Starfleet was the greatest thing since sliced bread. McCoy came out of the session feeling like his head had been stuffed with cotton wool and had the delight of knowing he had another whole week of the same ahead.

One would think, after all that, he'd be allowed to crawl into his bed and sleep long enough to get rid of the angry bear that had inhabited his head.

But no, of course not.

Medical cadets had different expectations than the rest of the new recruits but they were held to the same standards in terms of fitness and physical health, which was why, after what felt like the longest day in history, McCoy was out on the fields ready to run through PT divisions.

Once he'd passed the initial test, he'd then be placed in one of four groups, depending on his level of fitness. The basic group, for those who possessed just the bare minimum abilities for admittance, was where most of the medical cadets ended up.

He'd been incredibly fit once upon a time, playing sports every other day with colleagues at the hospital. He could fire out a few push ups - which seemed to be used as everything from punishment to reward, depending - and crunches without too much misery.

This, however, was a goddamn monster.

The campus long obstacle course loomed ahead of them in the slowly dwindling evening light.

"Looks fun, right?" McCoy jumped, caught letting his thoughts wander away with him, and looked sideways into the grinning face of the kid he'd sat next to on the shuttle.

"If you're a masochist." McCoy grumbled, looking the kid up and down. He'd cleaned up and was wearing the same standard issue PT kit as McCoy, but the bruises were still dark on his face and hands. It was unlikely the kid had sought medical treatment like McCoy had told him, and now he wanted to run around like an idiot. Maybe masochist wasn't too far off the mark for him.

"Aw come on, Bones! Live a little!"

"Bones?"

Kirk's grin looked painfully wide and he fixed earnest blue eyes on McCoy in a way that was reminiscent of the dog he'd had as a kid - always impossibly excited by the smallest of things and desperate to play with you whether you liked it or not. "You're a doctor." Kirk said, as if that explained everything. "Now come on, I'll race you to the end!"

"Do I look like I give a damn if you beat me?" McCoy asked, wondering if this was some strange form of divine punishment. Not only did he have to run this damn course, he had to do it with someone who clearly had his own self sustaining warp core. Please god, kill him now.

"You _look_ like you're gonna throw up." Kirk said with a smirk. "What's the matter, doc? Can't hold your booze?"

"Don't you have anyone else to annoy?" McCoy grumbled, falling into a reluctant starter position and waiting for the bell.

"You're the most convenient." Kirk grinned, not bothering to take position. "Besides, I'm worried about you."

"You're worried about me?" McCoy asked in disbelief. Who the hell did this kid think he was?

"Sure. I mean, I didn't even know they _let_ old people enlist any more." Kirk looked him up and down skeptically.

"Old?" McCoy yelped indignantly. The bell chimed and he lunged after Kirk, who had gone from standing around obliviously to action in less time than it had taken for McCoy to even compute the bell. "I'll give you old you little shit!"

He spent the entire race that way, always just out of reaching distance of Kirk, who sailed through the whole thing with the kind of grace and agility McCoy would be jealous of if he could think of anything other than wringing the brat's skinny neck. Old? _Old?_

He wasn't old. He wasn't over the hill.

He might be a drunk, bitter divorcee with a daughter he never saw and a list of sins longer than his arm…he might be all that, but he was _not_ old.

Kirk's laughter just ahead was like a constant kick in the ass, forcing him to keep his body moving over walls and under wires, across trenches and swinging from beams like a goddamn monkey. They kept him from bowing out when he desperately wanted to, when everything hurt and he was fairly sure he'd lost the ability to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.

He'd be damned if he let some immature, reckless little punk like Jim Kirk show him up. He'd finish the damned course if it killed him, and then _he'd _kill Kirk.

He was still charging forward, almost tripping over his own feet with the single minded need to continue, when he banged into Kirk who was standing perfectly still at the end of the route.

They'd finished. He'd reached the end.

"Nicely done, Bones." Kirk grinned at him, his hands grasping McCoy's elbows to keep him from knocking them both over.

"I hate you." McCoy gasped, his lungs burning. It was grossly unfair that Kirk wasn't even out of breath.

Kirk laughed at him again. "Sure you do." He said.

McCoy's response was to fall to his knees and vomit on Kirk's new track shoes.

* * *

Apparently throwing up on a man was practically a rite of passage where Kirk came from and he didn't seem in the least bit upset. He ran interference when some of the other cadets tried to butt in and shoved a bottle of water under McCoy's nose before their instructor could see.

"Don't worry about it!" Kirk said again. "Seriously, you're not even the first person, I think Johnson's still trying to puke up his intestines. At least you can blame the alcohol."

"Having problems, McCoy?" Their instructor was a short man with thick shoulders and arms. McCoy wasn't sure if not having a sense of humor was a recruitment requirement for these guys or if they were just lucking out, but Commander Gioni had a flat face and an expression to match.

"No sir." McCoy said. He'd been raised to have manners so he didn't think addressing people as 'sir' or 'ma'am' would be a problem for him.

Gioni nodded and looked at Kirk. "Something funny, Cadet? Does McCoy's predicament amuse you?"

"No sir!" Jim said, wiping the smile from his face but not his eyes.

"Really? Because it looks that way to me. If you're feeling so perky why don't you circle back and run the course again?" Kirk opened his mouth to respond. "That wasn't a suggestion Kirk."

"Sir, he was just-"

"Keep talking, McCoy, if you want to join him."

He caught the subtle way Kirk shook his head. A sensible man would shut his mouth. The first run around had nearly crippled him. A second might actually lead to his undignified death.

Gioni was back, glaring at Jim. "Don't expect any special treatment from me, Kirk."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sir." The kid said evenly, taking off at a jog back to the start of the course.

Aw to hell with it. "You're an ass." McCoy said to Gioni, rather enjoying the way his eyebrows shot up in shock. "Sir." He added, hastily taking off after Kirk.

He slowed down when he reached the kid's pace. "You're crazy, doc." Kirk laughed.

"I'm a fucking moron." McCoy agreed. "One day and I'm already making friends."

"What's the worst he can do?" Kirk asked him as they kept an even pace through the campus. There was no point exhausting themselves before they even reached the start again. "Make us run for hours on end in the cold and the rain?"

"Aw Christ." McCoy muttered, wondering what the hell he'd been thinking.

"Welcome to Starfleet, Bones."

"You need to stop calling me that."

"Make me." Kirk smirked, sprinting off into the distance.

"Goddamn it." McCoy growled, picking up speed and wondering if this was going to be the rest of his life - running around like an idiot after Jim Kirk.

* * *

By the time they had finished the run a third time - because two just wasn't enough for an asshole like Gioni - McCoy was too exhausted to wonder what it had been about Kirk that had triggered the man's antagonism so quickly. By the following morning he'd all but pushed it out of his mind.

He met Kirk on the steps of the Cadet Mess Hall for breakfast as they had agreed before separating the night before. Jim was dorming in one of the cadet housing barracks on the far side of campus, while McCoy had a room in one of the apartment blocks closer to town. It was one of the perks of being on the Med Track that he wasn't going to turn his nose up at. Better a two bedroom apartment with only one - admittedly neurotic - roommate than a bunk in an eight bed block. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep with that many strangers in the room, but Kirk was waiting for him, bright eyed and bushy tailed, despite it being six in the morning.

"Mornin' Bones!" He said cheerfully.

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to call me that?" McCoy grumbled, following Jim inside and picking up a tray.

"You agreed." Kirk said. "I did no such thing." He stared at the selection of food in front of them with slightly bewildered eyes, making no move to choose and holding up the line of hungry, increasingly irritated cadets.

McCoy reached out, grabbed a bowl of oatmeal and dumped it on Kirk's tray before shoving him forwards. "Pick something."

"Someone's grumpy this morning." Kirk said lightly, adding an apple and a few slices of toast to his tray.

"Someone hasn't had coffee." McCoy glared back. He'd never met anyone so completely immune to his temper before. Most people would have got the message that McCoy wasn't really the friendly type, but either Kirk was stupid or he had the self preservation instincts of a lemming. The kid was attractive, almost ridiculously so, so maybe that was it. A pretty face and not much going on behind the scenes. Still, a nice guy and McCoy wasn't exactly overrun with friends.

He added a glass of milk to Kirk's tray and dared him to comment with a twitch of his eyebrow.

If Kirk was bothered he didn't show it. McCoy wasn't sure anything would phase that kid. Three runs through the assault course certainly hadn't.

Whatever Kirk had been doing before Starfleet, it had left him in seriously good shape. McCoy wanted to hate him for it, but he only had himself to blame. He could have let Jim run alone. He still wasn't sure why he hadn't.

He got his coffee and followed Kirk to the end of a table.

The oatmeal was practically cold and the toast soggy, but Kirk plowed his way through both without much concern. The coffee, at least, was palatable.

"You're James Kirk." A voice from the other side of McCoy announced.

"It's Jim." Kirk said.

"No, but you're him." The cadet said, his eyes wide. "You look just like your dad."

Kirk paused, toast in hand, then very calmly set it back down on his plate.

"Your point being?"

"What's that like?"

"Right now, irritating." Kirk said, his voice even. McCoy had the impression he was missing something and he didn't like the way the kid's gaze seemed to close off.

"Beat it." he said to the cadet. "Some people are trying to eat breakfast in peace."

Kirk might be immune to his glare, but the cadet wasn't. He squeaked and turned away quickly. "What the hell was that about?" He asked Kirk.

The kid shrugged. "Beats me."

"Your dad famous or something?" He asked, wondering if perhaps that was that Gioni had been talking about when he said Kirk wouldn't get any special treatment.

"Or something." Kirk nodded, clearly having lost all interest in his breakfast. "What have you got first?"

As distractions went that was as transparent as glass, but McCoy let it slide.

"Meeting my advisor to try and sort out some discrepancies in my class schedule."

"What's wrong with it?" Kirk asked.

"Well for a start it's designed for someone who doesn't already have an MD."

"Smarty pants." Kirk grinned.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "What about you?"

"Physical." Kirk said, grimacing. "Then psych."

"Fun." McCoy knew most cadets disliked the intrusive procedures, as necessary as they were. Now he was on the other side of things he found himself being considerably more sympathetic.

"Don't worry, Bones." Kirk winked at him. "You're still my favorite doctor."

"Lucky me." McCoy groused. They finished up their breakfasts together and ditched the trays for cleaning. "Lunch?"

Kirk shook his head. "Meeting Pike. Dinner? Hear it's gonna be shit on shingles."

"I don't want to know, do I?" McCoy asked, shuddering.

"Tastes as good as it sounds." Kirk laughed, bouncing off down the steps. "Catch you later, Bones!"

"Stop calling me that!" McCoy yelled after him. "Goddamn brat."


	6. Chapter 6

This one should probably be named the one in which Jim is not as sneaky as he thinks he is, Bones is not just 'another doctor' and Pike probably regrets knowing the both of them.

I'm so glad to hear you are having fun! I certainly am. They're so much fun to play with before things got Epically Complicated.

Love from the Blob and I, and betad by Tishbing x

* * *

"Sit your ass down." McCoy said, bypassing a greeting entirely as Jim sulked on the clinic bed, waiting for a doctor to give him the all clear to go back to training. He was only six days in to the Academy and a busted ankle was not something he particularly wanted to deal with.

"I am sat down." Jim said petulantly, pretending he hadn't been trying to haul his ass up and back out the door. Even hobbling he was sure he'd be able to escape before anyone noticed him missing.

Say what you like about him, but Jim Kirk was a fast learner, and it was clear as day that Doctor McCoy was a whole lot less patient than the man Jim had christened 'Bones'. Given the fact that he'd seen Bones reduce three separate cadets to tears in less than a week, Jim wasn't so sure he'd escape with his dignity intact.

He also wasn't sure if it was luck or misfortune that landed him needing the services of the Academy's Student Clinic on the very first day Bones was doing a shift. To be honest he'd thought they'd have at least waited until the poor guy had finished his full orientation course to dump him in the deep end, but apparently they were short on fully qualified doctors and Bones had volunteered to fill in a few gaps.

Jim might have done a little investigating into his new friend - they were such a rare occurrence that he wanted to know what he was in for - and it turned out Bones _was_ something of a genius in his field. Jim liked that. He liked smart. He _really_ liked smart.

But that didn't mean he liked doctors. Not even doctors who vomited on his new shoes and bitched at the cadets who had taken to giving Jim the hairy-eyeball without even knowing the reason why they did it.

"What foolish stunt were you doing this time?" McCoy asked, taking a seat on the end of the bed and scanning over Jim's swollen ankle.

He'd actually been running that damn assault course again. Gioni was entirely predictable in both his dislike of Jim and the punishments he assigned out. He also wasn't shy about handing them out outside of his scheduled classes and had assigned Jim an extra ten laps after spotting him on the grass outside Cochrane Hall. Apparently first year cadets weren't _allowed_ on the grass, though no one had bothered to tell Jim that. He'd been on lap nine when he'd jumped down off the high wall and landed badly. He'd heard the crunch, but he'd actually been so cold at the time that the pain hadn't registered until later. Gioni had made him complete the last lap regardless and it had taken Jim so long to finish he'd missed breakfast and was limping towards Armstrong Hall for his last Rank and Structure orientation when he'd been spotted by one of the combat instructors and ordered to report in with Medical.

Which was how he found himself here, in front of Bones. It was also why he was going to lie. Bones had put himself on Gioni's radar already, and Jim suspected he'd flip his lid if he found out the man had made him run the course with a bust ankle. Bones didn't need the extra trouble, he was having a hard enough time adjusting to the Academy as it was.

"Stairs, man. They're fucking evil." Jim backed the lie up with a shrug and Bones fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Jim had been lying about injuries for half his life. Fool one doctor, fool them all.

Bones made a noncommittal noise and placed his hand around the swollen joint. They were surprisingly gentle as they peeled Jim's sock off and pressed against the ball of his foot. "How's that feel?"

"Fine." Jim lied.

Bones very gently manipulated his foot, moving it back and forth. Jim swallowed down the pain and kept smiling. "And now?"

"Okay I guess." Jim said, feeling slightly sick.

Bones stood and wrote something down on his PADD. "You had your physical already." He said.

Jim nodded. That had been fun. He'd been all set to panic as the doctor had asked him one question after another that he had no answer for, at least until he got a comm and was then very quick to fill out the rest of Jim's paperwork, no more questions asked. Jim suspected Marcus had a hand in that. The man had already insinuated that the things Jim had been doing over the past decade were best kept quiet.

"Yep." Jim said, nodding.

"And your name's Jim Kirk?" McCoy asked, still with his eyes fixed on the PADD.

"Er, yes. Why'd you ask?" Jim frowned at him.

"Because I wanted you to actually tell me something that was true." McCoy said, setting the PADD down and glaring at him.

Jim blinked. "Huh?"

"Your ankle is broken. So when I ask if it hurts the correct answer is _yes, doctor_." McCoy said, busying himself around the small room. "Your medical file is a joke and if your assessor had even half a grain of professional integrity they'd have flagged it up after your physical." McCoy stabbed him in the neck with a hypo, taking Jim completely by surprise. That was some impressive stealth he had going there.

Still, "What was in that?" Jim asked, feeling the first stirrings of panic.

"A painkiller." McCoy said gruffly. "You're welcome."

Well shit. Jim opened his mouth to tell Bones that he tended to be allergic to most painkillers, or at least he had been as a kid. He'd not actually taken anything for pain since they'd recovered him from Tarsus.

The words, however, found themselves stuck in his rapidly swelling throat, and the last thing he saw before his vision blacked over was Bones's epically pissy expression.

* * *

"-And why the hell not?"

Jim woke to loud voices and a feeling of warm fuzziness. Blinking slowly he saw he'd been transferred to an actual treatment room and was laid out on a biobed, tucked under several blankets. His ankle was wrapped in a thick bandage, but the pain was practically nonexistent so it was likely the break had been repaired while he had been out.

The source of the shouting was visible through the ajar doorway just about visible from the bed. McCoy's back was tense and he was yelling at someone Jim couldn't see.

"That's classified, Doctor." Jim blinked. That was Pike. Why was Pike here? Why was Bones yelling at him?

"Classified my ass! I've looked at his blood workup. An allergy to NSAIDs should be noted in his medical history but surprise surprise, it's missing, along with everything else about the kid! According to his file he just sprung into a healthy twenty two year old, seemingly out of nowhere. Now, I'd believe it was just a technical glitch if it hadn't been signed off on by a Starfleet physician only three days ago!"

Wow, Bones sounded pissed. Jim wasn't sure why his entire medical history was blank. They'd given him all the immunizations and boosters he'd fallen behind on while he was in jail, so surely that should still be in there. Maybe Marcus had been a little _too_ thorough in keeping Jim's file whitewashed of anything suspicious?

Jim wondered what Pike would say. _If_ he would say anything.

"Will he be okay?" Pike asked, ignoring McCoy's rant altogether.

There was a beat of silence, then Bones answered. "He's recovering just fine. I treated the anaphylaxis and fixed up his ankle. I want to keep him under observation for another twenty four hours, but after that I'll have him released."

"Thank you, Doctor McCoy." Pike said, then left. Jim frowned. It wasn't like Pike to be so completely cagey. Or at least he didn't _think_ it was like Pike. People could change, he supposed.

When McCoy came in Jim pretended to be asleep and let the doctor check his vitals on the bed's computer. "You're hiding something, kid." McCoy told him. "Don't think I won't figure it out."

* * *

Two days after being released from medical, and one day after starting his official classes, Jim finally had an evening of freedom. Most of his classmates were falling exhaustedly into bed, but Jim was wired and looking for some way to blow off steam.

He found himself in the one bar on campus, packed in with second and third year cadets all enjoying themselves after their first week into the new semester.

Cupcake and his buddies were in one corner playing pool and they scowled at Jim as he passed by.

Jim doubted they'd start anything here, but wasn't really caring if they did. He was on edge and while he'd promised Marcus he wouldn't get in _too many_ fights, he hadn't agreed to avoid them altogether.

Life at the Academy was just as challenging as he expected it would be, but for entirely different reasons.

Before, people had given him weird stares and a wide berth because of the way he'd looked. He'd walk into a place like he owned it and played off people's perceptions depending on the mood he was in. If he wanted some fun, he played up the dumb pretty boy persona. If he wanted to be left alone, he gave off the dangerous loner vibe.

Here he could do neither because everyone already knew who he was. Everyone but Bones, it seemed, but that was another matter.

Being George Kirk's son was not working to his advantage.

It might have, had he entered the Academy the traditional way, but his reputation from the bar had beaten him to the Bay and once it was known he was a _Kirk_ it was pretty much assumed he'd gotten in on daddy's name and no merit. It would have sucked even if it wasn't true, and Jim could understand why it made people hate him on principle. They'd worked hard to get admitted, some of them for years before they'd even set foot on campus. Having some asshole walk in through nepotism would have pissed him off if he were in their place.

He didn't help himself, he knew that. He responded to their antagonism in a way that just made things worse. He couldn't stop himself, it was instinct. When someone was rude to him, or treated him badly, he laughed, he wound them up…and nothing seemed to anger people faster than laughing at them.

Case in point, his dormmates, though Jim hadn't actually said a word to any of them before they'd decided they didn't like him. At least they had just decided to ignore him.

It might not have been so bad if Bones was here, but ever since the small incident of Jim's airways closing, McCoy had been pissed at him.

Turned out Jim didn't need to try to turn people against him. He was just naturally gifted at it.

Still, he was resolved to enjoy his evening, even if he did have to be alone. He ordered a drink and took a seat at the bar, mellowing away twenty minutes just letting the noise and atmosphere wash over him.

Jim was just about able to set his drink down before a giggling woman landed in his lap and grabbed on to his shoulders to stabilize herself.

"Hi." Jim grinned, in no way objecting to being used as a chair for someone quite so pretty. She was Orion, which wasn't unusual in San Francisco, but she was also in cadet reds. Last time Jim had checked there was only one Orion woman currently enlisted in Starfleet -something to do with visas and diplomatic shenanigans that if he was completely honest he'd lost track of while in prison. Once upon a time he'd been very knowledgeable about the Orion Star System, but they weren't considered 'suitable reading' on the inside.

The Orion girl was tall and had some seriously distracting curves. Her red curls threatened to escape the braid she'd tied them up in and her eyes were a soft blue. Jim was a big fan of finding the beauty in everything, human and alien alike, and he didn't have to look particularly hard with her. She smiled up at him brightly. "Hi. I'm sorry I sat on you."

"I'm not." Jim laughed.

"No," She giggled, cocking her head to one side and studying him intensely. "You're not, are you? You have very pretty eyes for a human."

"I was gonna say the same thing to you." Jim said. "Well, minus the human part."

"I'm not human?" She gasped in a slightly drunken but no less endearing way. "What gave me away?"

"The accent." Jim said, making her laugh.

"You're funny. I like funny." She said, making no move to climb off his lap. "Buy me a drink?" Jim grinned and waved over the bartender.

"Jim." He said, introducing himself.

"I'm Gaila." She said, then leaned in and kissed him.

Jim was usually the one taking the lead in his romantic entanglements, but he wasn't about to turn down a beautiful woman, and certainly not one whose lips were as soft as hers were.

She pulled back just as he was starting to lose himself in the sensation. "Funny _and_ a good kisser. I might keep you."

"You're very forward, aren't you?" Jim asked mildly, not minding in the slightest.

"Some humans find that off-putting." Gaila agreed. "Do you?"

"Not even a little bit." Jim whispered.

"Someone really should get you neutered." They looked up and Gaila beamed brightly at Uhura, who had her hands on her hips and was fixing Jim with a decidedly unfriendly glare.

"Cadet Uhura!" Jim said cheerfully. "You're looking exceptionally foul tempered tonight." He'd only encountered her the once since the shuttle and that had been when reviewing the various academic clubs the Academy had to offer. Even if he didn't enjoy languages as much as he did he would have considered joining just to irritate her. She really was very beautiful when she was contemplating his grizzly murder.

"Kirk." Uhura nodded. "Good to see your lecherous nature isn't just defined by alcohol."

Gaila giggled on Jim's knee. "Oh, is he the guy from the bar? You didn't say he was so yummy."

"You think everyone is yummy." Uhura said, a hint of fondness creeping into her expression.

"Humans are an attractive species." Gaila shrugged.

"Hear that?" Jim preened just so Uhura would roll her eyes. "I'm an attractive species."

"You're something, alright. Come on Gaila, we're gonna head back to the dorm." Uhura held out her arm encouragingly. Jim wasn't sure if she didn't trust him with Gaila or didn't think he was good enough for her friend, but if she wanted to be overprotective that wasn't something he was going to argue with.

"Sorry Jim." Gaila said, kissing him goodbye then bouncing from his knee to loop her arm with Uhura's. "Maybe another time for that drink?"

"Anything for that accent." Jim promised. "Ladies." His own drink arrived and he held it up in a farewell salute.

Gaila waved and Uhura flipped her ponytail, which Jim supposed was her way of giving him the finger.

Just like that, he was alone again.

He had always been a solitary drinker before, there was no reason why he should be bothered by it now.

Which didn't explain why he'd flipped open his comm and called McCoy, almost without thinking about it.

_"What?" _McCoy barked, clearly still pissed with Jim.

"Bones!" Jim said brightly. "Come grab a drink with me."

_"I'm busy!" _McCoy said.

"Doing what?"

_"None of your business."_

"You're sitting in your room drinking, aren't you?" Jim said knowingly. He could spot a functioning alcoholic at twenty paces and McCoy had all the signs.

"_What's your point?_" McCoy asked moodily.

"My point is you should come drink with me instead. I'm far more entertaining than a blank wall."

_"That's debatable."_

"Come on Bones, please!" Jim whined.

More silence. _"If I come will you stop calling me that stupid name?"_

"If you come I'll _think_ about it!" Jim countered, grinning from ear to ear.

_"Where are you?"_

It was only a little pathetic, Jim thought as he ended the call, that he was so excited about hanging out with a man who was angry with him - and who had saved his life, his brain added helpfully.

Only a little pathetic…

Right?


	7. Chapter 7

"Forty two." McCoy glanced up from his data file and frowned over at the cadet sat across the table from him. "The meaning of life," Jim Kirk grinned. "It's forty two."

"And that is relevant to me, how?" McCoy asked. They'd been in the same spot for nearing three hours and his ass was as numb as his brain.

"You look kinda spacey." Jim shrugged. "So I'm guessing you're either wondering what culinary delights they are gonna serve up for lunch or you're contemplating the nature of existence, in which case…forty two."

McCoy stared at the kid who had somehow, for some insane reason, become the only friend he had at the Academy. "One of these days I'm gonna figure out which lab cooked you up in an experiment and mail you return to sender."

"Good luck with that." Jim snorted. "So what's the problem?"

"Who said there was a problem?" McCoy asked moodily.

"You're looking at that PADD like you want to stab it with one of your hypos." Jim rolled his eyes. McCoy wasn't sure when he'd stopped being Kirk and started being Jim - thought it could have been when the kid was spiraling into anaphylactic shock at his feet - but there was something irritatingly endearing about him. "You don't like math?"

"Jim, this is not math. Math has numbers." And McCoy wasn't half bad at it. True, most scanners and biosensors took the leg work out of calculating drug dosages and metabolic rates, but all physicians needed a basic handle on numbers and McCoy had never had a problem in any of his academic work in the past.

But this…this wasn't math, or logic, or anything a sane person should be spending their time doing. This was-

"It's not going to bite you." Jim said patiently. "Which bit are you having a problem with?"

McCoy shoved the PADD over to him and slumped back in defeat. Ask him to name all three hundred and twelve neurotoxins manufactured on spec in the last twelve months and he could tell you exactly how to counter each and every one of them for eleven different species. Ask him to repair a plasma blast to the chest…ask him to cure Pyrrhoneuritis…

Just don't ask him to make sense of _this_ gibberish.

"Ooh, you got the ADM formalism." Jim said enthusiastically. The class had been assigned one of five different equations to study and report on, some of them groundbreaking and new, others all but ancient. McCoy had got one of the older ones. The ADM formalism had been in use since the mid 1950s, but even with the volume of written work, McCoy couldn't actually get his head around it. He was a scientist for sure, but his area of expertise was medicine, biology, pathology, xenopathology…he had a working knowledge of chemistry and probably a graduate understanding of pharmacology. Saying he should understand physics because he was a scientist was like saying he should be able to write spectacular poetry because he could speak standard.

"You say that like it should mean something to me." McCoy threw his hands in the air in irritation.

"It's just a variant of general relativity." Jim said. "I mean it's out of date and the Rosterburg-Heinkine Solution of 2129 kinda shot it outta the water but it was fairly groundbreaking for its time."

"That's swell, Jim, but you might as well be talking to me in Klingon right now." McCoy grumbled. "This is ridiculous. I'm a doctor, not an astro-physicist."

"Yeah, but you've surely done _some_ physics, right? I mean, in school? They do physics in schools, right?" Jim looked at him helplessly.

"Sure," McCoy agreed, "but I was on a pretty focused track."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I was in med-school by the time I was fourteen. My education in physics pretty much ended there." McCoy said awkwardly.

"Aww, were you one of those prodigy babies?" Jim sniggered. "That's adorable, Bones!"

"God, you're a pain in the ass." McCoy sighed.

Jim nodded. "Yes, but one whose gonna help you not flunk out of your first class. Budge over." He didn't really have a choice in the matter as Jim elbowed his way onto the bench McCoy was sat on and placed the PADD between them. "Okay, so we'll start from the bottom and I'll have you space ready by the time the mess bell rings. Just stop me if you know something already."

McCoy nodded. He wasn't too proud to turn down some tutoring, even if he did half expect Jim to tease him about it for weeks on end. He supposed he owed it to the kid for nearly killing him the other week.

Something he'd not forgotten about, even if Jim apparently had.

"Wait, what about your project?" McCoy asked, not willing to distract Jim from his own work. He knew the kid wasn't having an easy time fitting in or making friends, and the last thing he wanted to do was have an adverse effect on Jim's work.

But Jim just grinned and flashed up his own complete project. "I had the Schrödinger Equation."

McCoy stared at the report. "How can this be math? There are _no numbers_!"

"There's a two right there." Jim protested, looking rather offended.

"That's squared. It doesn't count."

"Does too!"

"Does not!" Apparently prolonged exposure to Jim lowered both one's IQ and mental age.

"Do you _want_ me to help you or not?" Jim demanded in exasperation.

"Yes!"

"Then stop making math cry!"

That was possibly the single most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard Jim come out with - and they had spent an entire evening at a bar trying to decide if Gioni's beard was a sentient being in its own right.

"You're insane." McCoy shook his head helplessly. "You're actually crazy."

"Is that a problem now?" Jim asked, stabbing the PADD with his forefinger and reminding McCoy that he had to submit _something_ by nineteen hundred tonight or suffer the humiliation of failing his first assignment as a cadet.

"No." McCoy said begrudgingly.

"Good. Now say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry." McCoy said flatly. Sorry he enlisted in the first place. Sorry he threw up on Jim's shoes and bonded himself to a raging lunatic. Sorry he wanted to beat Einstein's head in with his chair. Sorry he-

"_To the math._" Jim said seriously.

"I'm not apologizing to the damn math, Jim!" He yelled. McCoy stared at him, actually starting to think that perhaps he should be backing away slowly, when he caught the gleam of amusement in Jim's eyes. The kid had a damn good poker face, though he'd learned that already and didn't find it half as funny as Jim seemed to. "You little shit."

"Man, your face is a picture, Bones." Jim burst into giggles, actual, honest to god, childish giggles. He even started to go pink he was laughing so hard.

McCoy should have been offended, but there was something almost infectious about the kid's amusement.

Not that he'd be admitting as much any time soon.

Forcing his smile to remain firmly in check, McCoy just shook his head sadly.

"Just shut up and teach, Brainiac."

* * *

Turned out Jim _was_ a brainiac.

Actually, the kid was brilliant. _Frighteningly so._ McCoy only shared three classes with him this semester: history, warp physics and ethics. Jim shone in all of them. Granted, half the time he came out with something McCoy had the instinctive urge to either roll his eyes or throw something at him, but as he slowly became better at expressing himself, it was astonishing to see how quickly and how easily he absorbed information.

McCoy had never been beaten in class rankings before in his life, and while he'd accepted he was never going to hold top spot in physics, he'd risen to the top five percent in ethics and in history. Jim, surprisingly, hadn't. Not at first.

McCoy hadn't been able to understand it when the first week's grades had been posted and Jim's name had hovered just above average. He was top of their warp physics class and after some investigating McCoy had learned that he was top of all of the science and math based classes he was signed up in. He wasn't doing half as well in his other subjects, despite being one of the main contributors to class discussions. He clearly understood what he was talking about, usually to degrees far beyond the rest of his classmates. It had been perplexing. It had been downright frustrating.

And it had taken about a week and several solid hours of observation, but eventually he'd figured it out.

They'd been back in the library again. McCoy was sure that he'd seen those same walls more in the past two weeks of his life than any other part of the campus. He and Jim usually got there early on the days when they had later classes, and really early on a weekend when competition for study space was fierce. They'd focus on their own projects and classwork, occasionally firing ideas at one another, or discussing a theory if they were both working on something for the same class.

That day they had both been writing essays for their Federation History class and McCoy had been watching Jim get more and more frustrated as the morning progressed.

Eventually he gave in. "You okay, kid?" He asked, genuinely worried.

"Ugh, yeah." Jim said, pinching his nose and sighing. "I'm fine."

"You wanna swap?" He offered as Jim frowned. "Peer review." McCoy shrugged. "You see if I've missed anything, I steal your ideas…" He kept it light and teasing in an attempt to brighten Jim's mood and was pleased when the kid shrugged.

"Sure I guess." He said, and slid his PADD over to McCoy.

The problem was instantly obvious.

Jim clearly had no idea at all how to craft an essay. It read exactly like one of his class discussions - obviously very well informed and all the points were there, including some McCoy would never have thought to include - but it was jumbled, disjointed and out of order. There was no introduction or conclusion, no grammatical structure or cohesion and if McCoy hadn't known exactly how bright Jim was he would have guessed it had been writing by someone far younger and less well educated.

It was the latest piece of information to be added to the pile McCoy was building in his head. The one that said Jim Kirk was hiding _something_, and it was a something he was starting to suspect wasn't all that good.

Now he, of all people, could respect a man's privacy. It was why he hadn't pushed Jim after the incident in the hospital. Even putting the incomplete medical records aside, he'd been far too at ease with the way he'd lied about his injury, both how he got it and just how severe it had been. McCoy wasn't stupid and he wasn't naive. At some point in his life, Jim had been hurt and forced to lie about it.

And now this. How did a man clearly as intelligent as Jim have _no_ idea how to craft a basic essay? McCoy had assumed that based on Jim's age at enlistment and his intellectual prowess, he was at least educated to a college level, if not higher.

Now he wondered if he'd been completely off the mark.

"What?" Jim asked, sounding miserable. "Is it that bad? It is, isn't it?"

"No, Jim it's not that, it's… okay, I'm trying not to sound completely like an asshole here, but….you've never written anything like this before, have you?"

The flush that rose on Jim's cheeks was less endearing and more shamed. "Not before last week." He admitted.

It didn't make sense. It didn't make _any_ sense.

Jim _had_ to have had a decent education, Starfleet would never have taken him in otherwise, and even the very basic foundations of good written work was being taught at a preteen level these days. How could he have never had to write a report before?

He _could_ ask. He could push.

Actually, he could see Jim waiting for him to do just that. It was all there, in the defensive set to his shoulders and the stubborn angle of his jaw.

So yes, McCoy could push, or -

"You want me to show you how?" He offered. Jim looked up in shock. McCoy shrugged his shoulders as if it was no big deal. "Hey, it's the least I could do for the guy who spent an entire evening explaining spaghettification and the thermodynamics of black holes to me. Which, I'm still saying is weird and a little gross."

Jim's smile was tentative and shy, utterly unlike anything he'd seen on the kid so far. It was perhaps the first real thing Jim had shown him. McCoy felt like he'd passed some kind of test and he was resolved to keep doing so.

"Sure." Jim said, "I mean…thanks."


	8. Chapter 8

Happy Valentines! This is going to be the only update this weekend as hubby and I are heading out for the weekend, but I hope you have a wonderful day and I'll see you in a bit! xx

* * *

"So, how are you finding classes?" Jim resisted the urge to keep fiddling with the hem of his jacket and met Pike's gaze across the desk.

"Good, I think." Jim said honestly. He was officially one month into Academy life and if anything the classes were the very least of his problems, certainly now he'd got his head around the concept of report writing. He didn't think he'd ever be able to thank Bones enough for working through it with him. The latest weekly class rankings were up and Jim knew he was doing well. He wasn't the best at everything, not yet, but it would get there. Class rankings were made up of 50% academic achievement, 15% physical and 35% leadership and merit. His grades were faultless and some of his professors were talking about letting him test out of the year by the end of the first semester, which would help with his plan to complete the program in three years.

Even Gioni couldn't fault his physical performances, though not through lack of trying. Jim held both the current and the Academy record for running the assault course - and he'd done it so many damn times now he could probably do it blindfolded. They weren't due to take hand to hand until the second semester but Jim wasn't worried about that either.

It was the leadership and merit he was having some problems with, and that simply came down to the fact that outside of Bones, the rest of his year group either ignored his existence or he wished they would.

He didn't have any allies in the upper years, either. Thanks to Cupcake and Uhura, he'd landed a large group of second year cadets with demerits and walking punishments before the year had even begun, and that hadn't won him any friends.

And then there was Finnegan.

The fact that Jim hadn't snapped and broken Finnegan's jaw was, in his opinion, the ultimate proof that he was becoming a proper, responsible grown up.

Still, it was a close call. One of these days he'd catch Jim in a shitty mood and then…

"You're getting along with your classmates?" Pike asked him. This was one of their scheduled 'chats' to review Jim's progress. He'd not seen much of Pike after the first week of orientation and it felt strange to be sitting across from him and reporting on his behavior.

"I get along with everyone." Jim shrugged, not fooling Pike. "It's just...some people aren't so pleased you let me in."

"And why's that?" Pike asked patiently.

"Because I skipped the selection process. Nepotism at its finest."

"This isn't nepotism Jim." Pike said gently.

"Isn't it? Would I be sitting here if not for my dad?" Jim had done a very good job of not really thinking about George Kirk _ever_, but it was practically impossible here. Everywhere he looked was some place George had been, some officer who had known him back in the good old days and was _so_ pleased to see Jim following in his footsteps, or worse. Gioni wasn't the only one who assumed that because Jim had a famous dad - a dead, famous dad because a lot of them seemed to forget that part - that he'd expect special treatment.

He'd hoped that his academic merit would speak for itself, and he worked his ass off on his assignments just to prove that he _was_ good enough to be there no matter how it had come to be. It was starting to look like it wouldn't happen.

It was frustrating and isolating, but Jim had handled worse.

At least this time he had Bones.

"Jim, your father has nothing to do with you being here." Pike said. "You're here because you deserve to be."

"You don't know that." Jim said, feeling sullen.

Pike gave him the look, one that had been effective when Jim was ten but not so much any longer. "Don't I? I can judge merit for merit's sake, Jim. The fact that you are a Kirk means very little in the grand scheme of things."

"You mean you didn't spin the tragic hero's son story when trying to convince the board to let me in?" Jim asked in disbelief. He knew Marcus had been the final word on his admittance, but Pike did not. He'd gone in ready to convince them purely on the basis of who Jim was. That was kinda nice. To be believed in like that.

"I told them that you were an exceptionally bright and talented young man who had been dealt some bad cards in the past-" Jim snorted but Pike continued on regardless, "-and who deserved a second chance. You're not the only person in Starfleet with a criminal record, Jim. I just had to show them what you had done with yourself after your arrest. They were very interested in your quadrotriticale proposal."

"Really?" Jim asked in surprise.

"Really." Pike nodded. "Now I'm not saying they were all one hundred percent on board with the idea….but they were willing to take a chance on _you_ Jim, not on George's son."

Jim didn't really know how to respond to that without getting emotional, so he deflected. "Let me guess, Archer was against it."

"Quite vocally." Pike looked amused. "Barnett too, which might actually be the only thing those old bastards have agreed on in decades and no, you don't get to tell them I said that."

Jim grinned and mimed a zipping motion over his lips. "They never did like me very much."

"Well, if half of the rumors from the _Winchester_ were true I can understand why Barnett twitches whenever anyone mentions your name, but what exactly did you do to Archer?"

"Broke Hoshi-san's heart?" Jim admitted regretfully.

Pike's expression of levity fell. "Yes, Professor Sato. Well that brings me on to the last thing I wanted to talk to you about."

Jim looked up curiously. "Sir?"

"She knows you are here. I imagine Archer commed her the minute you rolled off the shuttle. Now it's up to you. Since she's not listed in your records as family I will do what I can to block her from having contact with you, if that is what you want."

He could tell Pike was serious with his offer, even though it would probably mean angering a well respected public figure, and quite probably pissing Archer off as well. Jim nodded his thanks, but he didn't need to hide from her. She'd visited him in prison once she'd found out he was there. "No, it's okay. Thank you."

Pike nodded. "This is your home now Jim." He said seriously. "I want you to feel safe here."

"I do." Jim said instinctively.

"No, you don't." Pike shook his head. "But hopefully someday you will."

* * *

"So how was it with Pike?" McCoy said as Jim dropped down into the seat beside him. He'd only just made it to class before the bell chimed, having wandered distractedly around campus for the twenty minutes he'd had between Pike's meeting and his first lesson of the day.

"Good." Jim shrugged, fishing his PADD out of his bag. It was an older model than the ones most of his classmates were using, his being on loan from the computer sciences department instead of being his own. He'd updated the specs and added some new functions himself and it worked just as well, if not better than some of the newer models. Bones's was glossy and new, and he was fairly sure his friend used it only to read texts, write reports and send messages. "Did I miss anything exciting at breakfast?"

"Just your friend Cupcake threatening half our class, as usual." McCoy shrugged. "Can't you sucker punch that asshole again?"

"I promised I'd cut down on the number of fights I get into." Jim grinned. "One whole month and counting."

Bones rolled his eyes. "Congratulations, you want a gold sticker?"

"Yes, please." Jim smirked.

"Gentlemen, when you're ready." Professor Carter cut Bones off before he could snipe back.

"Sorry ma'am." Bones said, accent out in full force. Jim rolled his eyes and hid a grin behind his hand. Bones was the worst flirt ever. Literally the worst. That accent was his only saving grace.

"Well since you and Cadet Kirk are so keen to entertain us with your exploits, how about you two take the hot seats for today's class?" Carter asked, clearly amused by the both of them.

Jim elbowed Bones hard in the gut. Or he would have done, if McCoy hadn't been trying to do exactly the same. They banged their elbows together painfully and forced smiles as they stood and made their way to the front of the class.

It wouldn't be so bad. Once a week in their ethics class Professor Carter called on two students to take sides in a randomly generated topic of debate. Jim rather liked her way of doing things because the unpredictability of the topics favored those students who were widely read and quick thinkers. They'd covered the birth of the Eugenics war and the merit of bioengineered genetic mutations, as well as discussing who had the greater claim to Sherman's planet, and the Romulan-Klingon Confederation of 2190-2193. After the initial round of debate between the two cadets had run out of steam Carter would open it up to the rest of the class and there could be all out war for the best part of forty-five minutes. Cadets could be asked to argue for or against anything, regardless of their personal opinions on the subject. Carter maintained it taught them how to remain objective at all times, no matter how complex or personal a problem might become. Jim loved it.

There were two podiums in the center of the room and he took his place behind one while Bones headed to the second.

This would be fun. Bones was as opinionated as he was smart, and he was ruthlessly skilled at picking apart 'logical' trains of thought. He and Jim bickered all the time, so it would be fun to take that to another level.

Jim's competitive spirit demanded the best opponents, the ones who could really force him to dig deep and come up with the goods. Bones would do that. He'd probably shred Jim's ego at the same time, but that thing was practically blast proof.

"You for or against, Kirk?" Carter asked, firing up the computer to generate their topic.

"For." Jim grinned. "Cadet McCoy dislikes most things on principle. I'm sure he'll have no problem arguing against anything."

McCoy snorted from his podium and Carter grinned. "Let's keep this professional, gentlemen. Everything above the belt."

"Assuming Cadet Kirk is wearing his." McCoy said drolly.

Jim sniggered. Yes, this would be _awesome fun._

"Okay," Carter said, "as always you have three minutes to formulate your arguments then it's gloves off. Your topic is:"

The question flashed on the main viewing screen and Jim's smile dropped like a lead weight.

_'The actions taken by Governor Kodos during the Tarsus IV famine of 2246 are justifiable from a moral and political standpoint.'_


	9. Chapter 9

Happy Monday! Hope you all had a wonderful weekend! Many thanks for the threats and tribbles, I'm thrilled you guys are having fun reading!

Things are taking a slightly more serious turn here though, so Tarsus warnings are going out.

Thanks again to Tishbing for keeping my weird typos in check!

Enjoy xx

* * *

McCoy almost cringed when the topic flashed on screen. So much for a fun debate with Jim - and debates with Jim always were fun (and frustrating, and annoying and sometimes completely ridiculous). The Tarsus IV Massacre was about as controversial a subject as you could get.

He was shamefully relieved Jim had nominated him to argue _against_ instead of _for_. He'd been nineteen when the news had broken, fresh out of Medical School and into his Residency. Jim might have been joking when he said McCoy was 'one of those prodigy babies' but he'd not been wildly off the mark. McCoy was by no means the youngest person to graduate Med School, but he wasn't terribly far off.

He'd actually contemplated taking some time out to volunteer. His dad had gone to help with the relief efforts and between him and Jocelyn they'd managed to persuade him to focus on his education instead. There were some times he was relieved he had, especially when some of the more grizzly details had started to surface. Other times he deeply regretted that he'd not.

He didn't envy Jim's position at all.

He also wasn't sure how to approach building an attack when he was so unsure as to how Jim would go about defending his position. He had no idea how he would do it. Plead insanity?

He focused on what he knew. In the winter of 2246 Federation aid arrived on the remote colony planet of Tarsus IV in response to a distress call made by one of the inhabitants. Upon arrival they discovered four thousand starving people - men, women and children whittled away to little more than bone and sinew after less than one percent of their food supply had survived a still unidentified fungus. McCoy had been watching those first days, remembering how senseless their pain had seemed at the time when food and resources were so readily available.

But of course that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst came when the bodies were found.

They hadn't even tried to hide what had happened there. Mass graves were unhidden, bodies hung from trees and scaffolds, left to rot where they had been murdered.

It had been horrifying to learn that their leader, the person supposed to protect them, had ordered their deaths. More horrifying still to discover how he had gone about doing so.

The stain of Tarsus IV was a mark in history there could be no escape from. Of the four thousand survivors, there had been only nine who had survived being marked for execution. All children. The other survivors, the 'lucky ones', had been brutalized by the media. With no trace of Kodos or his inner circle found by Federation aids, people had looked for someone, anyone to blame, and those Kodos had deemed worthy enough to live had been as good a scapegoat as any.

At the time Leonard had secretly agreed with the unflattering opinions being bandied about by the press, but now he was older he was no longer so sure. If he had been there, if his name had not been on Kodos's list…would he have stuck his neck out for someone else? Would he have risked his own daughter's safety to do the right thing?

He wasn't so sure.

"Kirk? McCoy? You ready?" Carter called time on their prep. McCoy nodded then looked across his podium to Jim.

He almost shivered. He'd certainly known Jim was capable of violence - he'd met the kid while Jim was still bleeding from a bar fight for pity's sake - but he'd never actually _seen _that side of him before. Every inch of him was coiled for a fight and those absurdly blue eyes of his were ice cold and empty.

McCoy was suddenly struck by the urge to offer to swap, to pull the fire alarm, to pitch a fit and choke on his own tongue…whatever it took to remove that look from Jim's face because looking across the room at him was somehow the most terrifying thing he'd ever done.

"Kirk?" Carter asked, waiting for his response.

When Jim spoke, it was with more seriousness and maturity than McCoy had ever heard from him before. Every word sounded measured and tight, as if he was keeping himself reading from a script to avoid breaking off into a tangent. "Asking me to defend what he did, even for academic study, is an insult to the people he murdered. There is no gray area here. He told four thousand people that they were not good enough to live, and he butchered them."

McCoy wasn't sure if he was surprised or not. He'd had no idea how Jim would formulate a defense, but he'd never for a moment thought he'd refuse. Jim Kirk lived for a challenge and they didn't come much harder than this.

"You need to be able to put aside your personal feelings on a subject, even one as admittedly atrocious as this." Carter said, highlighting the point of the exercise.

Jim laughed, and it was a bitter, angry sound. "Admittedly atrocious…" he echoed, _"Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death."_

McCoy had no idea what it was Jim was saying - he'd never heard those words before, but then it was possible he'd picked them up from one of his obscure reading habits.

Carter, however, seemed slightly more on the ball. "Cadet Kirk-"

Jim pressed on, unflinching, unblinking. "You're an educated, healthy woman, you're still of child rearing age and you have skills that can be utilized. Your husband, on the other hand, was invalided out of service last year, was he not? And your children are not old enough to be useful. They are just a drain on resources, and quite frankly they aren't smart enough to bother investing in. So, they and their father will be dragged into the street and shot in the back of the head and if you try and protect them you'll be beaten and _then _they'll be shot in the back of the head. Unless of course they're used as examples to the rest of the colonists. Then you'll wish to god you'd killed them yourself."

"Jim-" McCoy breathed, not the only person in the room looking at him with horror. Carter was practically white, but if Jim knew or cared he gave no indication.

"So fail me if you must, but I'll burn in hell before I defend what happened there."

Then without waiting for a response, Jim turned on his heel and all but fled the classroom.

* * *

McCoy didn't hesitate in following him. There was maybe five seconds between Jim leaving the classroom and McCoy stumbling out into the hallway, but there was no sign of him at all. Damn kid was fast.

He stumbled back inside as Carter tried to bring the room into order. Most of the cadets couldn't believe Kirk had the balls to do what he had, while the rest were in agreement with him. McCoy wondered if Jim might have actually won some of them over with that little display. They were certainly not looking contemptuous at the mere sound of his name.

"What the hell was that?" McCoy hissed once he reached Carter's side, his voice low and his manners forgotten.

She shook her head. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"I met him four weeks ago." McCoy said helplessly. "What he said…you," he swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat, "he can't have been there." It sounded like a denial, even to his own ears.

There was no way Jim could have been on Tarsus IV. He'd have been what, thirteen? Something so huge would have been in his file…

…along with an allergy to NSAIDs.

No. No way. Bright eyed, cheerful, happy Jim could not have been on Tarsus IV.

Maybe someone he knew was? Maybe that was it. Bones would have been pissed as hell if he'd been asked to defend Kodos and Donna had been there, or Fred, or hell, even Jocelyn.

That was it. Jim knew someone affected by it. Knew enough to be rightfully outraged that he'd been asked to defend the person responsible…but he'd not been there. Please god, don't let him have been there.

"I think you should talk to your friend." Carter said gently.

McCoy nodded. He would do that.

Now…where to find him?

* * *

Finding Jim turned out to be impossible. He wasn't in his dorm, and McCoy's monosyllabic, neurotic roommate hadn't seen him either. He wasn't out running the tracks, or in the library, or anywhere on campus it seemed.

Jim skipped the rest of his classes that day and by default so did McCoy. He'd need a damn good excuse and running around after a cadet who wasn't technically 'missing' wouldn't cut it.

All McCoy's comms went directly to a mailbox and the generic message recorded there by a computer's voice instead of Jim's.

By nine McCoy was well past worried and hovering somewhere between genuine fear and irrational anger. He was reluctant to call campus security and potentially get Jim in trouble if he _had_ gone out of bounds, but the later it was getting and the less choice he had.

He'd even tried accessing Jim's file again - a gross misconduct if he was stopping to think about it - and look up his next of kin for _some_ idea of who to call. Of course it was blank and useless like everything else in there.

So at shortly after nine that night, with no other choice and a desperate hope that he was doing the right thing, he walked up to Captain Pike's secretary and demanded he be let in.

As Commandant, it wasn't unusual for Pike to be on campus so late, but it was fairly unheard of for a first year cadet to march up to his office and loudly demand admittance.

He was refused at first. Actually, he was refused a dozen times, but he stubbornly held his ground, not thinking about the punishments and reprimands he was earning, only of that scarily blank look in Jim's eyes before he'd vanished.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Pike stuck his head around his door looking tired and seriously pissed off. He caught one glance of McCoy and sighed painfully. "You're here for Kirk. Come on in."

Caught off guard, McCoy followed mutely into Pike's office, then nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Jim!"

The kid was passed out on the small couch under the window, his long legs curled up against the arm and his knees tucked up to his chest. There was a blanket covering him from his shoulders to his feet and he didn't open his eyes at McCoy's loud exclamation.

"I should have let you know he was here." Pike said, slumping down into the chair behind his desk. "I was a little distracted, but I apologize."

McCoy shook his head, his fingers reaching out to take Jim's pulse, the doctor in him demanding to know the kid was alright. "How long's he been here?"

"He let himself in a little after ten. I was in meetings until one and he was pretty gone by that point." McCoy followed his gaze to the empty decanter on the bookshelf.

"That looks expensive." He said mildly, relieved to hear that Jim must have gone straight to Pike's office after leaving class. That was far better than the dramatic and gruesome scenarios that had been running through his head.

"Horribly." Pike said, not sounding upset so much as tired. "You mind telling me what happened?"

"He didn't say anything?" McCoy asked, surprised. Jim turned his head into McCoy's hand as he finished taking the kid's pulse and McCoy blamed missing his daughter for the urge he had to tuck the blankets more tightly around him.

"Oh he said plenty." Pike said. "Mostly in languages I'm not too proud to admit I've never heard before. Between that and throwing things at my head all I really managed to get out of him was that he was drunk, pissed as hell and apparently it's my fault."

McCoy was still unsure as to the nature of Pike's relationship with Jim, but if the kid was retreating here and behaving so wildly without Pike dropkicking his ass to the brig then there had to be some history there. Some serious history.

"We were debating." McCoy said, climbing off his knees. Jim was stone cold drunk but seemed to be sleeping it off peacefully. "In Ethics."

"Okay." Pike prompted. "I'd offer you a drink but I'm afraid I've been cleaned out."

McCoy snorted, then hesitated. "It was Tarsus IV. The subject of the debate, I mean. He was supposed to be defending Governor Kodos but I'm fairly sure he told Carter to get fucked in the most eloquent way I've ever seen." Pike had gone pale at the name, his eyes darting over to Jim's sleeping form and killing any chance that McCoy's blind hope was right - that Jim _hadn't been there_. "He wasn't." McCoy pleaded.

But Pike's eyes said it all.

"Jesus Christ!" He exploded, slamming his fist down on Pike's desk. "Why the hell isn't that in his goddamn file, and don't tell me it's _classified_!" McCoy snarled, remembering all too well what Pike's response had been when he'd visited Jim at Starfleet Medical after McCoy had unknowingly induced anaphylactic shock. "How could you have been so goddamn careless to just let him get blindsided like that?"

Pike took a long, slow breath. "I'm afraid it _is_ classified, Cadet Mc-"

"Doctor!" McCoy snapped. "It's Doctor McCoy right now. You don't get to bully your way out of answering me because of your rank, _sir_."

To his surprise Pike laughed. It was only a little sound, but it was unexpected and made McCoy start. "I can see why he likes you."

McCoy wasn't really sure of the reasons why Jim liked him. Now at least he could legitimately say the kid was messed up in the head.

His pulse was pounding in his ears and his usually steady hands were practically trembling with anger. He could hardly comprehend getting so worked up for someone he had known only a few short weeks and clearly knew absolutely nothing about but-

No. That wasn't true. He did know things about Jim. He knew he drank his whiskey neat, liked too much sugar in his coffee and geeked out over math. He knew Jim was even less in touch with popular culture than he was, but could recite sonnets and millennia old bits of poetry verbatim and _still_ manage to convince people he was a rebellious troublemaker.

He knew he'd never have made it through the shuttle ride to the Academy without Jim, let alone his first week.

"Bones?" McCoy was moving across the room faster than his brain could process. He dropped down by Jim's side and put his hand on the kid's shoulder, cringing when Jim flinched, his gaze dulled with alcohol and sleep.

"You been drinking without me, kid?" McCoy asked, surprising himself by not shaking Jim and demanding answers. Apparently he wasn't a complete asshole, no matter what Joce said.

Jim blinked at him and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Where are we?"

"Pike's office."

Jim suddenly went very still and very pale. McCoy didn't like it, not for one second.

"Did…did I do something stupid?" Jim asked, his voice small.

"Jim-" Pike said, his voice soft.

There was no mistaking Jim's flinch for anything other than a sign he really, really didn't want to be anywhere near Pike. McCoy didn't know why, and quite frankly he didn't care. Pike was far too invested in Jim's life, and far too cagey about the facts for McCoy to trust that he had the best intentions. Maybe he was being harsh, maybe not, but until he had more answers than questions he wasn't about to leave the kid alone with Pike, not when he could barely stand on his own two feet.

"I'm taking him back to my dorm." McCoy announced, pulling Jim off the couch and bracing his weight. It was probably a good thing he'd been doing all that extra PT if he was going to have to haul Jim all the way across campus.

"I'm not certain that's a good idea." Pike said, his expression flat.

"Yeah, well I send him back to his room his asshole roommates will probably let him choke on his own vomit while he sleeps, and unless you're willing to explain this away in his report I can't exactly take him to the clinic."

"You can stay here Jim, if you want." Pike said, looking at Jim, not McCoy.

There wasn't much point. Any lucidity Jim might have had on waking up had pretty much gone and he hung on McCoy's side, warm and boneless. He was, however, shaking his head. It could have been to anything, Pike's offer, McCoy's…the whole damn situation.

"I'll take it from here, Captain." McCoy said. He'd been pushing his luck all night with Pike, but for all that Jim could get into trouble for drinking when he should have been in class, McCoy was willing to be that Pike would get into even more for not reporting it, and for keeping Jim in his office all damn day. Hardly appropriate behavior, even if Pike was Jim's advisor.

Pike said nothing and McCoy didn't wait around any longer.

He hauled Jim across campus, not stopping to talk to anyone he recognized and avoiding the more populated areas.

Jim probably thought he was helping but his feet dragged more than they walked and McCoy was panting harshly by the time he stumbled into his block and propped Jim against the lift wall for a brief respite.

"You," he told Jim as they reached McCoy's floor, "are a lot of trouble."

Jim made a noncommittal noise that McCoy took as agreement.

He wasn't really gentle when he dumped Jim on his bed, but that was more out of exhaustion than actual desire. "Okay kid," he said, rolling Jim over on to his belly. He had every intention of keeping an eye on him overnight, but he wasn't about to risk Jim pulling a Jimi Hendrix on him. "Let's get you sorted."

He pulled Jim's boots off, then his red jacket and pants, leaving him in his t-shirt and boxers before tugging the blankets up over his back. It was a little easier than trying to peel Jo out of one of her onesies, especially when she was feeling particularly energetic…but not much. Jim was no help at all.

McCoy's roommate was on a night shift at the clinic so McCoy dimmed the lights and settled on to the chair beside the bed. This would hardly be his first all night vigil, and he could use the time to study. After booting his PADD, he glanced over to make sure Jim was comfortable and was shocked to see him awake.

Jim stared at him, his blue eyes bright in the dim light. He didn't say anything and McCoy didn't know what he _could_ say.

"Go to sleep." McCoy said gruffly.

Miracle of miracles, Jim did as he was told.

McCoy stayed awake.

He didn't work.

But he did study.

And after reading all he could about Tarsus IV into the small hours of the night, he couldn't have slept even if he wanted to.


	10. Chapter 10

I know you probably wanted Jim&Bones feels after the last part, but unfortunately plot got in the way. Sorry :(

* * *

Admiral Barnett was waiting for Pike in his office when he arrived.

"Coffee." Janice Rand, his secretary said, holding out a mug of black, tar-like caffeine. Woman could brew a coffee like no one Pike had ever met and it was worth braving her terrifying poker face just to indulge. Rand was the type of woman who liked kittens and pink fluffy things and still managed to terrify a good ninety-five percent of the people around her, Pike included.

He accepted the mug with a nod of thanks and braved the inevitable.

Richard Barnett had been his CO on the USS _Winchester_ during the four years Pike had served on her as a junior grade Lieutenant. Pike had stayed on after his promotion despite what most would consider more attractive offers. He'd been young and idealistic, having seen enough action to know a little about how the world worked, but not enough to actually jade him. It had been on the _Winchester_ that he'd first met Commander Winona Kirk and her two sons.

He'd trusted Barnett as his Captain, he trusted him still now they were both older, more cynical men.

But they'd never seen eye to eye on Jim.

There was no question as to why Barnett was sitting in his office at seven in the morning. No other reason that could have Pike wishing to god he was still in his bed nursing the hangover he'd promised himself he'd never replicate and not clutching at Rand's coffee like it was the only thing standing between him and certain death.

"You look like hell." Barnett said. The man was hardly known for his sense of humor and his expression could almost rival Marcus's for stern dispassion. Actually, there was a silver lining. This could be worse. It could be Marcus sat in his office.

Or Marcus and Archer. God, that was a horrible thought…

"Good morning to you too, Admiral." Barnett was out of uniform and hadn't risen at Pike's entrance, suggesting he wasn't about to stand on formality, but Pike knew better than to make assumptions. "Little early for social visits?"

"This isn't a social visit." Barnett said flatly.

"Should I start a recording?" Pike asked, easing himself down behind his desk and placing his mug down on the bare surface. Jim had smashed Pike's glass coaster against the wall yesterday.

"Not this time." Barnett said. "You need to tighten the reigns on your protege."

Pike kept his expression calm. He wasn't about to get the boy in undue trouble when he didn't know exactly what information Barnett was privy to. "What's Kirk done now?" He asked, playing it calm.

"Aside from damn near announcing to his entire Ethics class that he was on Tarsus IV and giving Commander Carter a rather in-depth analysis into what Kodos would have done to her family if she'd been living there at the time? There's drunk and disorderly behavior, conduct unbecoming and assaulting a superior officer."

"He assaulted someone?" Pike hadn't heard that part and his heart sank. Goddamn but Jim made it hard to protect him, he really did.

"You." Barnett said humorlessly.

"He didn't attack me." Pike frowned.

"So it wasn't your Orbital Flight Award he threw at your head?" Barnett pointed to a rather suspicious looking dent in the wall behind the desk and Pike schooled his expression into blankness. In truth he'd rather lost track of things last night.

Jim had taken him completely off guard. He'd sneaked past Rand - who, come to think about it was probably plying him with coffee in recompense - and drunk most of Pike's scotch before anyone even knew he was in the room. The anger and the violence had followed too quickly for Pike to do much more than roll with it, but Jim hadn't _attacked_ him.

Completely the opposite in fact. He only started throwing things when Pike attempted to move into his personal space. It was that more than anything that had stopped his first instinct to call security and let Jim cool his heels and sober up in the brig.

The anger Jim would need to learn to deal with, and fast, but it wasn't something Pike hadn't seen in him before and he was equipped to deal with it as necessary - by not coddling Jim, by holding him responsible for his actions.

The fear though, that had been what had stopped Pike calling anyone in.

He'd never been able to stomach Jim's fear. Not when the boy was little, vulnerable and so desperately lonely he laid himself wide open to hurt, and not now. He'd seen that fear in Jim's eyes, clear as day, and the panic had been enough to convince him to let things play out just between the two of them.

Jim hadn't shown any of that fear when Pike had seen him after Tarsus. He'd locked it away behind rage and ice. Seeing it so unexpectedly, in his own damn office, had terrified him. What was there _here_, in one of the safest places in the world, that could reduce Jim to a drunken, petrified mess?

Of course when McCoy provided the puzzle pieces, Pike could hardly say he was surprised.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you, sir." Pike said helplessly.

"I want you to tell me we made the right call letting Kirk into this Academy." Barnett said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know you've got a soft spot for the boy-"

"And you don't." Pike interjected quietly.

"My feelings about James Kirk are irrelevant." Barnett shook his head. "Has he told you what he was doing before he enlisted?"

"The Board were made fully aware of his criminal record." Pike said stiffly. But Barnett knew that. He was _head_ of the Academic Board.

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about where he was between the time he ran away from Hoshi Sato to the time he landed back on Earth and got himself arrested nine hours later." Barnett raised an eyebrow at Pike's expression. "I'm fully capable of conducting my own research, Chris, especially when we're talking about Winona Kirk's son."

"What does his mother have to do with this?"

"That's above your pay grade." Barnett said, not unkindly. "But I'll tell you this: the only reason I agreed to let that boy into the Academy is because the order came in from over my head."

"What?" That made no sense. Pike had been forced to put everything on the line for Jim, or so he thought. "Who would-"

"That's my question." Barnett nodded. "Someone wants your boy in Starfleet and it's sure as hell not because his daddy was a hero. So I'll ask you again: _what was he doing?_"

Pike could only shake his head helplessly. "I don't know. His records from that time were blank and we weren't exactly on the best of terms. I didn't even know he'd run away until Professor Sato got in touch." By that point the trail was long cold. Pike had looked, of course he had looked. Jim might not have wanted to see him, but he was also fourteen years old. He was in no fit state to be off by himself. Only apparently he had managed just fine. "Look, whatever you're thinking…Jim's not a bad kid. Whatever he was doing, it won't have been anything-"

"Chris," Pike was surprised at the kindly tone Barnett had adopted, "the boy was a killer at thirteen."

"You're really going to hold what he had to do on Tarsus against him?" Pike demanded. "We would never have known what had happened there if it wasn't for him. He saved those children's lives at great personal cost." He'd read the confidential reports…he'd read them because the man sat across from him had seen him spiraling into doubt and depression and had hoped the knowledge would give him closure. Instead it had given him nightmares.

"I'm not denying that, not for a second, and believe it or not, this isn't a character assassination. I've not got anything personal against the kid, even if he and his brother did drive me crazy from time to time…" Barnett had held up his hands in a consolatory gesture, clearly trying to calm Pike down. "What he did up there was exemplary, no question, but therein is my point. He carried out complex, ruthless guerrilla warfare against a trained tactical force _by himself_. He fooled Kodos into thinking he was onside for three months-"

"And was then tortured and starved for another." Pike said, remembering the cold, clinical words that had described the condition Jim had been in when they had found him. Words like _blunt force trauma, lacerations, malnutrition_.

"And he never once told Kodos where to find the children he'd hidden." Barnett said, leaning forward in his seat. "This is all at _thirteen_. Now I don't for a second believe that Kirk sat around knitting for the time we can't account for, and if you stop looking at the boy like he's your son instead of what he _actually_ is you'd see the same thing."

"And what's that?" Pike said, not letting on how close that mark had hit.

Barnett leaned back again and shook his head. "I don't know. What I do know is that someone is very interested in seeing him become a member of Starfleet and with Kirk's background I'm not comfortable with waiting it out and seeing what comes of it."

"So what do you want from me?" Pike asked. There was a reason Barnett was telling him all this, and it wasn't out of friendship's sake.

Barnett sighed. "Get him to open up to you, if you can. See what he knows, what he doesn't…and for godsake, find out where the hell he's been hiding for half his life before it bites us all in the ass."

"You want me to spy on him." Pike said flatly, a cold shiver running down his spine at the thought. For all that yesterday's breakdown had terrified him, there was a small, shameful part of himself that was relieved - relieved Jim had come to him for safety, even if he'd not been willing to accept comfort. He'd been hopeful that maybe Jim was starting to forgive him for what had happened all those years ago. And now his superior, a man who had never guided him wrong in the past, was asking him to spy on the boy. Jim would never get over that.

"I want you to protect him." Barnett said seriously, "We have no idea how far up the line this goes, but if I'm right and they brought Kirk in to exploit those…_unusual_ talents of his, then you can be damn sure his life expectancy on graduation is going to be very short."


	11. Chapter 11

Lots of feels in this one, though I can't say they are the warm and fluffy kind :( This ones ties in quite heavily with _A problem from hell_, especially in terms of Jim's relationship with Kodos.

Warnings for Tarsus, Frank and language. This is also the first time I've tried a dream scene, which I'm still not 100% about. Hopefully it works for you!

Tishbing continues to wrangle my typos, thank goodness!

* * *

Even as Jim's eyes snapped open, he knew he was still dreaming. This was one of his least favorites, not because of what he saw or did, but because of the way he had felt at the time.

He woke in the bed, soft sheets bunched around knobby knees and skinny legs. He'd had his growth spurt late enough in his teens that he'd worried he'd never grow out of that small, weak body.

The lights were dim, but bright enough to see around the room. The dorm was never totally dark, and while none of the other boys complained Jim knew that was because of him. He didn't like the dark. He'd spent too long hiding in it, hoping Frank would forget about him.

It was because of Frank that he woke. It always seemed to be because of Frank. He crawled out of bed feeling shaky and sick, but knowing that it was all phantom, in his head. Frank wasn't here, not any more.

He had those dreams often enough that his body moved on autopilot, slipping out of the quiet dorm and treading barefoot down the hall to the common room. The computer was run by an AI Jim and the other boys had programed themselves and it knew that if he walked in the middle of the night it was to turn on the holographic fireplace, replicate him hot chocolate and project old cartoons quietly against the wall. The computer knew this because it was programmed to.

The man sat quietly waiting for him knew it because he knew Jim.

Kodos stood quickly at the sound of Jim's entrance and held out his arms.

When this had first started happening, Jim had shied away. He was too old to be coddled, too independent to crave comfort, and besides, the last man who'd put himself that deep into Jim's personal space had pretty much ensured that he avoid it at all costs.

But Kodos had been persistent, and Jim weak. Now he didn't hesitate before letting those arms fold around him and hug him close. Kodos didn't make him talk, didn't make him feel pathetic or broken, and there was nothing scary about the way he ran his hand soothingly through Jim's hair. Chris had used to do that sometimes, back when Jim was really little, and it calmed him.

In the morning, when the shadows weren't so dark and Jim's mind not so cowed by memories, Kodos would push him hard, like always. He'd make sure Jim learned and was strong, he taught Jim how to protect himself and other people and he promised that if Jim worked hard, no one would ever be able to hurt him like Frank had. During the day, Kodos was his teacher and Jim worked for him like he'd never worked before in his life.

But at night, when Jim was scared, Kodos let him have this.

Jim idolized him for the days, but he loved him for the nights.

As he was gently eased out of the hug, Jim wrapped his arms around himself and relaxed a little as a blanket was draped over his shoulders and his mug of cocoa pressed into his hands.

Kodos smiled at him and guided him over to the armchair, making sure he was properly tucked into the blanket before sitting down opposite. "Fancy continuing our match or do you want to try something else?"

Jim perked up at the idea of learning something new. Kodos was the smartest person Jim had ever met and he was a wonderful teacher. "Like what?" He asked, clutching his mug tight.

Kodos set a wooden board down on the table between them. He then set a number of black and white smooth, circular stones beside it. "Do you know what this game is?"

Jim leaned forward eagerly. "It's Go." He said, having read about the ancient game before but never having played it.

Kodos smiled, pleased. "Yes it is. Would you like to learn how to play?" Jim nodded, his cocoa forgotten. "The rules of the game are very simple but against a skilled opponent even the most analytical minds struggle for dominance. Now unlike chess, which I know is a favorite of yours, the combinatorial mathematics underlying have proven resistant to computer programing - even a very sophisticated system can be beaten by an experienced player. And also unlike chess, there is always a winner." He winked at Jim who smiled broadly back. Their chess games had a habit of dragging on painfully.

"How is victory decided?" Jim asked.

"A final tally. The objective is to control as much territory as possible and this is a quantifiable thing. Would you like to be black, or white?"

"Who goes first?" Jim asked.

"Black."

"Can I be white?"

"If you explain to me why." Kodos nodded, selecting the black stones.

Jim frowned and ran his fingers over a smooth white curve. "If black goes first, and every game has a winner then won't white be compensated in the result of a tie?"

Kodos's smile grew and Jim knew he'd answered correctly. He smiled back shyly and collected his pieces, his nightmare forgotten in the face of a new challenge.

"You know James, Go taught me one of the most useful strategies in my life."

"What was that?"

"Don't play 1, 2 and 3. Go straight to 3."

"I don't get it." Jim said, frowning again.

Kodos continued to smile. "You will. Now, shall we? Tomorrow is going to be a busy day; we need to make sure you get some rest at some point tonight."

"What happens tomorrow?" Jim asked.

"We go to 3."

* * *

"Jim!"

Jim woke with a start and propelled himself off the bed with enough force to knock both himself and the man besides him to the ground.

The abrupt return to consciousness brought with it a violent upheaval of his stomach. He lurched sideways, no control over his limbs, then strong hands were wedging themselves beneath his armpits and dragging him. He felt cold tile beneath his bare knees and his hands hit porcelain.

Perfect.

Jim ended up hugging the toilet for a good twenty minutes, alternately vomiting and trembling, his whole body damp with sweat. This was the time when he usually swore he was never drinking again, when his brain was too clouded with pain and confusion to remember _why_ he drank.

Large hands kept him upright as they pressed a glass of water against his lips and helped him to drink.

"I can't give you a hypo kid, I'm sorry. Maybe later we can actually run you through an allergy work up and check but I'm not risking it right now."

Jim swatted ineffectively at the low, grumbling voice that spoke behind his ear. Talking to him was a stupid thing to do, couldn't he see he was a little preoccupied?

"Fuck off." He mumbled, cold water dripping down his chin as he tried to move away from the hands keeping him upright. His mouth tasted marginally better, but he still wasn't sure where he was or why his brain was leaking out of his ears.

"Well good morning to you too." The voice said irritably. The hands were back under his arms again, hauling him upright. They were strong, but not inhumanly so. Maybe Cy then? Cy had certainly hauled his drunken ass around enough times. Jim yelped as his shins banged against something hard, and then he was suddenly being thrust into a brightly lit space, no hands to support him. He stumbled and braced himself against the closest wall, fingers curling against more cool tiles. His disorientated brain had only a second to jump from tiles and bright to aw shit before the shower turned on and he was being drenched by lukewarm water.

"Motherfuck!" Jim yelled, landing on his ass and letting loose the most colorful and creative string of curse words his currently limited vocabulary could string together.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, kid?" The voice said, actually sounding amused. "Jesus, if I wanted to take care of infants I'd have stayed back in Georgia."

"My mother's dead, fuckwit." Jim snapped, then his brain caught up with him. Not Cy then. Bones.

"Bones? Are you trying to drown me? What the hell?"

There was a pause, then Bones said softly, "I'm sorry kid, I didn't know that."

Jim ran a hand over his face, consciousness coming in fast thanks to the rude awakening. "How do you not know that? Seriously man, _everyone_ knows that." Jim complained. Yes, it was nice not having to tolerate the same attitude from Bones as he did the rest of the student populace, but goddamnit, he was just about pissed enough to start screaming all the shitty parts of his life just so people would _leave him alone_.

He could think again now, but that didn't stop the headache that had clamped around his brain like a vice. Jesus Christ, what had he drunk last night?

"Where am I?" He demanded, stripping off his sodden shirt and boxers so he could actually shower. Jim had stopped being shy about his body years ago and Bones was a doctor so it wasn't like he hadn't seen it all before. If the guy had a problem then he could get lost and leave Jim alone.

Actually, yes. That's exactly what he should do.

Surprisingly, Bones actually stepped out of the tiny bathroom and made an absolute racket moving around outside. "My place." He called out.  
Jim finished showering quickly and grabbed a towel off the hook, wrapping it around his waist. "You should have just left me at my dorm."

"Right," Bones didn't look impressed. "And let you choke on your own vomit while you slept."

"I wasn't that bad." Jim protested, feeling embarrassment and anger creep up on him fast.

"You had no idea who I was last night, or where I was taking you. You were _that_ _bad_ kid. It's a miracle you didn't give yourself alcohol poisoning."

"I know my limits."

"And you sure as hell like testing them." McCoy said, unimpressed. A second later his expression softened. "Look, Jim…I get that with what happened yesterday…and I'm not judging you, lord knows I've drowned my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle often enough and-"

"Nothing happened yesterday." Jim said firmly, finding his uniform clean and folded on the counter.

"Jim," Bones said gently, "you've got every right to your own secrets, you do, but you can't pretend that yesterday didn't happen."

For a second, Jim wasn't even sure what he was talking about and he paused as he buttoned up his pants.

Then he remembered.

Class. Running to Pike's office, ready to rip that backstabbing asshole a new one for ever convincing Jim to sign up for this shit…finding the office empty, finding the decanter _full_. Then it was sort of hazy, images and sounds that culminated in a warm voice telling him to relax, that he was okay, it was safe.

Could have been Pike. Could have been Bones.

Could have been Kodos for all he knew. They were certainly words he'd said to Jim before.

His legs sagged as the mountain in his head threatened to break open and he forced it into dormancy with ruthless, brutal force of will. He didn't think about it. He never thought about it.

To hell with Pike and his lies.

To hell with McCoy and his condescending bullshit.

To hell with all of it. Jim didn't need Starfleet. He was stupid for even thinking he'd have a place here.

McCoy shook his head. "I'm not asking you to tell me what happened Jim, I'm just asking you not to deny that it did."

McCoy could have asked him anything but that. Denial and Jim had been in bed together for years.

Jim felt his expression turn nasty as the room seemed to grow smaller around him. He knew exactly what he was doing even as he started to speak. He knew how to defend himself, and not just physically.

He hadn't felt threatened like this in years. He'd never allowed anyone _close_ enough. He'd been stupid to let this go so far.

"You wanna talk about denial? Okay, tell me why an aviophobic drunk enlists in Starfleet, because it sure as hell isn't for shits and giggles. What did you do to make you hate yourself so much? Oh wait, you don't want to answer? Big fucking surprise!" He raised his head and looked McCoy square in the eye. "You've got no right to talk to me about secrets you hypocritical asshole. Don't think that just because we've hung out for a few weeks that you know a single damn thing about me."

McCoy paled but his expression remained set and firm. "I might not know where you came from, kid, or what it is you're hiding, but I _do_ know you." He sounded kind, understanding almost.

Jim hated him for it and laughed. "Man, you don't even know who my fucking father was and we walk past him three times a day." He was done. He snatched up his jacket and shoes and stormed towards the door. "I never should have come here."


	12. Chapter 12

Blood and gore warning ahead!

* * *

McCoy stared at the door Jim had just stormed out of with a muted sort of shock.

That was…well, he couldn't say it was unexpected. He wasn't naive or stupid enough to think that Jim would wake up happy as Larry, or that he'd spill his soul to a man he'd quite rightly pointed out that he'd known all of a month. So no, the act itself was not unexpected.

It was the brutality that was shocking. Jim had responded to the situation with the type of anger and violence that only came from an underlying fear. Given what McCoy was starting to learn about him, he could hardly hold that against the kid. But damn, did he know how to go right for the jugular?

McCoy knew he wasn't the reason Jim was angry, but it was hard not to take such personal words _personally._

Yes, he was a coward, and a drunk and a hypocrite, but goddamnit he was only trying to help. Something told him that Jim wouldn't recognize good intentions if they thumped him on the nose.

But where exactly did that leave him? Did he follow when Jim made it so perfectly clear that he wanted to be alone? Did he risk Jim upping and leaving Starfleet? Could he even take that threat seriously? The kid was upset and quite possibly still drunk, hardly in the mind to be making those kind of choices.

Should he call Pike? Could he _trust_ Pike? His instincts said he could, but did he risk it?

And goddamnit, what the hell did Jim mean when he said they walked past his father three times a day?

Was Jim's dad a professor? Was he an officer at the Academy?

If he was, maybe that was where McCoy should be heading to next. If Jim had family here then perhaps they could help him, or at least give McCoy something more to go on than a few hastily gathered facts.

He fetched his PADD and booted the Academy directory. He didn't have a first name for Jim's father, so just entered _Kirk_ into the database search.

The results were instant and numerous. Jim's name didn't even feature in most of them.

_George Kirk_, however, did. McCoy opened up his basic personal file and scanned through the details.

Born 2199 in San Fransisco. Attended Starfleet Academy 2217-2220. Married to Winona Davis 2223.86. Son George Samuel born 2229.24. Took up his commission on the _USS Kelvin, Science Division _2222.09. Promoted to First Officer 2232. Son James Tiberius born 2233.04. Killed in Action 2233.04. Posthumous Medals: _Medal of Honor; Kelvin Cross, Distinguished Service Award._

McCoy frowned at the dates, then the name.

_USS Kelvin_…

Oh Jesus Christ.

How unlucky could one family be?

Now the facts were in front of him, he couldn't believe how he'd missed it.

Actually, no. He knew exactly how he'd missed it. He knew about the _Kelvin_, of course he did. The media brought it up every time something even slightly unsettling happened up in the black. He'd even heard the name George Kirk before, but to him it had just been one of those tragic events that happened, touching no one he knew and not really impacting his world in any way. Unlike pretty much everyone else at the Academy, McCoy didn't have his Starfleet history tattooed on the back of his eyelids. He'd joined because he had nowhere else to go, not because he was living out some life long fantasy of going into space - far from it.

So sure, the eager, dedicated, fact spouting cadets would know exactly who George and Jim Kirk were and what it meant. To him Jim had just been Jim. Kirk wasn't that unusual a name and no one had been crass enough to explicitly bring the details up to Jim face to face, at least not to McCoy's knowledge.

Damn, damn, damn, _damnit_…

His comm chimed and Jim's ID flashed on screen. McCoy snatched it up in a second and answered breathlessly. "Jim!"

_"You need to come down to the quad."_ Jim's voice said tensely.

That was not what McCoy expected to hear and he answered in kind. "Huh?"

_"The quad, Bones,"_ Jim said, _"bring your bag."_

His bag was of course the medical kit he kept on hand and stocked, more out of habit than necessity. If he needed it, then Jim was probably hurt.

"I'm on my way." McCoy said, already out the door.

* * *

He'd raced across campus in the cold morning air, barely feeling the chill creeping through his thin t-shirt. He only had his sneakers on because the floor in his apartment was frigid as hell this time of year, but he was glad of it as he sprinted across the grass, to hell with the rules.

It was still early, even by Academy standards, and there was no-one in sight to block his view or crowd his path, and he spotted the reds of Jim's uniform across the quad almost instantly, even in the low light.

He was crouched down over a second person and the swell of relief that hit McCoy was quickly pushed aside in favor of professionalism as he reached them.

"What happened?" He demanded, meeting Jim's gaze steadily. Now wasn't the time to rehash their argument and Jim nodded tersely.

"I found him like this. I think he's been stabbed." His hands were pressed against a cadet's chest, blood almost the same color as his uniform staining his skin.

The cadet was drifting in and out of consciousness as McCoy flipped open his scanner and began diagnostics with the one hand, while feeling for his pulse with the other. "Do you know him?" He asked Jim.

"Daniel Finnegan." Jim said. "He's a second year."

"You call it in?"

"Medical is sending someone over but you were closer." Jim said, "I'm sorry I called you but I wasn't-"

"You did the right thing," McCoy assured him, sparing Jim a flash of a smile before turning all his attention on Finnegan. "Daniel, can you hear me?"

The cadet groaned at the sound of his name. There were indications of a head injury feeding back from McCoy's scanner, but that could have come from either an attack or from falling, either way it added to the confusion he was undoubtedly experiencing.

"Hey Danny boy," Jim called, his voice bright and cheerful and at complete odds with his expression, "wakey wakey."

Oddly enough, Jim being irritating worked better than McCoy's professional approach. Go figure.

"Kirk?" Finnegan's eyes rolled as he struggled to focus.

"One and only. You gonna talk to the nice doc before he starts poking you to get your attention?" Jim said, mindless of the way McCoy rolled his eyes.

Finnegan just gasped with pain, fear in his eyes.

"Jim, move over." McCoy said softly, nudging his hands away from where they were pressed against the wound. He saw Jim hesitate then do as he was told. "Talk to him, keep him awake of you can." McCoy instructed, one hand taking over the job Jim had been doing of keeping pressure on the wound, the other riffling through his bag for emergency field dressings. Paranoid his ass…

"Hey, hey," Jim snapped his fingers in front of Finnegan's face. "Stay with me you lazy son of a bitch."

"Hurts." Finnegan moaned.

"Yeah, I know it does." Jim said sympathetically. "It's a gut wound though, which is good. Kinda. Bones's will patch you up and you'll be back to making my life miserable in no time."

McCoy listened in on the conversation as he peeled away the fabric of Finnegan's uniform and inspected the wound. Long, flat, Jim was probably right. Looked like a stab wound.

Who the hell went around stabbing cadets right in the heart of the Academy?

"What were you doing out here, man?" Jim asked. "It's the asscrack of dawn."

"Extra-" Finnegan moaned, breaking off into a half muffled scream of pain as McCoy pressed down hard on the field dressing, sealing the wound off from contaminants and helping to stabilize the blood loss. It wasn't much, but it would buy him the precious extra time before the emergency team arrived.

"Easy," McCoy soothed, "this is going to help."

"It's kinda gross." Jim provided helpfully.

"Jim!" McCoy scolded. Jesus the poor bastard was bleeding to death and Jim was hardly helping.

"What? It is! Cool though. Hey, don't let them do a full regen and you'll have a badass scar. Girls love em. I had this totally cool one that went, like, right over my shoulder and half way down my chest but some asshole doctor zapped it. Didn't even ask me first." Jim said, not breaking eye contact with Finnegan once. The cadet blinked tears out of his eyes and clung to Jim's arm fearfully. "Hey, you'll be fine," Jim said, suddenly much more gentle.

"Kirk-"

"I promise. You'll be okay."

Jim was still gripping Finnegan's arm and McCoy trying to stabilize his blood pressure as the emergency team arrived. Jim didn't move while McCoy briefed them and only reluctantly budged when it came time to load Finnegan onto the transport.

"Jim, you need to let them work."

"You're gonna be fine, okay?" Jim swore.

"Jim." McCoy pulled him away gently and Finnegan was rushed away. There was no peace for them though. Campus security had been alerted when Jim had put in the call and were loudly demanding to take their statements.

Unlike the security at Starfleet Headquarters, the Academy security were a civilian force, and they weren't used to dealing with anything more than a few rowdy cadets. On the whole cadets were far better behaved than most kids their age. They had a hell of a lot riding on their good behavior.

"You okay, Kirk?" The officer in charge said, drawing them away from the scene.

"I'm good, Ricky, yeah." Jim nodded, somehow managing to make the blood on his hands and clothes look inconsequential. He looked calm, but troubled, and his eyes kept darting over to McCoy.

"You guys know each other?" McCoy frowned, looking at the officer then back to Jim.

"Does't everyone know Jimmy by now?" The man said dryly.

"Do I even want to know?" McCoy shook his head. Damn kid was like a homeless puppy.

"Hey, I'm friendly, that's all. Besides, these guys know everything that goes on around here." Jim said, a small smile touching his lips. "They have all the best gossip."

"Well we don't know what happened here, so how about you give us your version of events?" Ricky said more seriously.

"Can we go inside?" Jim asked, "Bones did his hero thing but he forgot to bring a jacket."

McCoy hadn't even felt the cold until Jim reminded him, then he shivered on cue. He also couldn't help but frown at the kid. Given how ruthlessly he'd tried to shove McCoy out of his life less than an hour ago the concern was oddly touching.

"Of course." Ricky nodded. "You need medical attention?"

"He's a doctor." Jim said, thumbing at McCoy. "Kinda want to wash my hands though."

Ricky and two of his junior officers led them towards the security building and allowed them to clean up. He had someone bring them fresh coffee. "I've called Captain Pike, he'll be here shortly. We can wait until he's here if you like."

Jim nodded and sipped gratefully at the coffee. No doubt his hangover was giving him hell.

"You okay?" McCoy asked quietly as they sat on hard chairs in the hall, waiting for Pike's arrival.

"Yeah." Jim said, his eyes darting before he sighed and looked back at McCoy. "Look, about what I said. I'm…"

"A grade A asshole?" McCoy supplied helpfully as Jim's words drifted off.

"Something like that." Jim nodded. "I shouldn't have said those things."

"Damn right." McCoy said, without anger. "I'm sensing that's a theme with you."

"Trying to apologize here." Jim scowled.

"And you suck at it." McCoy snorted. "Simple words: _I'm sorry._ Try them. You had no problem apologizing to the math."

"You were apologizing." Jim said automatically. "I would never-"

"Jim." McCoy cut him off before he could start.

The silence that fell was awkward and heavy, reminding McCoy just how new their friendship was.

Jim tapped his fingers on the curve of the mug in his hands. "Look…I…I don't talk about it. Ever. That's not going to change. But you were right, and I know you were only trying to help. I'm not used to that."

"People trying to help you?" McCoy asked gently.

Jim shook his head. "People being decent. This would be a lot easier if you were an asshole."

"I can work on that." McCoy offered.

Jim laughed quietly. "Yeah, okay."

The silence lapsed again, a little lighter this time, and McCoy settled back to wait for Pike, his mind buzzing with questions.

"I'm sorry." Jim said suddenly. "And thank you. For looking out for me."

McCoy smiled gently. "Any time, kid."

"Kirk. McCoy." Captain Pike was impeccably presented, despite it being so early. Jim and McCoy stood, falling to attention. This was a little different from McCoy fishing a drunken Jim from Pike's office. This was not personal, this was official. "At ease." Pike said, then glanced at Ricky, "You have a room, Officer Strayton?"

"Yes sir." Ricky nodded, leading them into a small meeting room and setting up the recording equipment.

"In your own time, gentlemen." Pike nodded. There was no indication that he had more than a passing association with either of them and the tired, resigned man McCoy had briefly seen the night before was nowhere in sight. If Pike was anything like McCoy, he'd not slept well at all, but you'd never know by looking at him.

Jim began, knowing far more than McCoy did. "I was heading back to the barracks, sir. I'd spent the night at Cadet McCoy's dorm and needed a change of clothes before morning PT." Jim started out speaking calmly and assuredly, then his expression became more hesitant, "I know I broke curfew-" He said tentatively, glancing up at Pike in a way the recording would no doubt pick up on.

Sneaky little bastard, McCoy thought, almost admiringly. Jim wasn't outright lying about why he'd spent the night at McCoy's, but he was doing a damn good job of absolving Pike of any responsibility.

Pike shook his head, seeing through Jim instantly. "That's not my concern right now cadet. Just stick to this morning."

"Yes sir." Jim said, some of the tension in his shoulders leaving as he nodded. "I found Cadet Finnegan in the quad. He was lying on his back and it was obvious he was injured, but I didn't know how badly until I got closer."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"No sir." Jim shook his head. "PT's not until oh-six hundred and I think it's pretty rare for many people to be up and around much before then, not in that part of the campus I suspect." He glanced over at Ricky, who nodded in agreement, then carried on. "As soon as I saw that Finnegan was injured I called the emergency number, but I knew they'd take at least ten minutes to arrive, so I called Cadet McCoy."

"You're in the Medical Track, McCoy?" Pike clarified.

"Yes sir," McCoy said, swallowing around the dryness in his throat. "But I've had my M.D for years. I keep an emergency bag on hand out of habit."

"Good thing that you did." Pike nodded, still no trace of emotion on his face. "Can either of you think why Cadet Finnegan could be out so early in the morning? Or who might want to hurt him?"

Jim's expression remained open and honest. "Why he was out so early? I'm not sure sir, but as for who'd want to hurt him…Finnegan is a bully. I can think of a dozen or more people who'd like to kick his ass."

"Yourself included?" Pike asked.

"I'm probably somewhere near the top, yes." Jim said, seemingly unconcerned that he was implicating himself. "He spends most of his time with Mitchell and Andrews. They like to put the shakedown on the first years. It's mostly harmless hazing stuff, but sometimes it can get rough."

"Speaking from experience?" Pike asked, staring at Jim intently.

"It's only been physical the once." Jim shrugged. "Finnegan smacked me in the chest with an ion mallet in the rec center the other week."

"He did what?" McCoy demanded, speaking up in outrage. "You never told me!"

"It wasn't important." Jim said, shrugging again.

"Im.._important_? Those things can do real damage, Jim."

"Well it didn't." Jim said impatiently.

"Enough." Pike said cooly, cutting them off before McCoy could reach over and give Jim and solid shaking. "You never reported it." Pike said, actually sounding angry.

"He's just a bully." Jim said, "I've more important things to be doing than worrying about some asshole taking a dislike to me."

"I know what you're thinking," McCoy blurted out, worried now that suspicion would turn on Jim, despite his blasé attitude to what could quite easily be considered motive, "but Jim couldn't have been the one to attack Finnegan. His body temperature was seriously decreased: he'd been lying there for some time, and Jim had only been gone a few minutes before he called me. Besides, there was no weapon, right?"

"Relax, McCoy, I'm not accusing Cadet Kirk of anything." Pike said calmly.

McCoy met Jim's wide eyed look with a scowl of annoyance. "Good." He said mulishly.

"Is there anything else you remember?" Pike asked.

"No sir." They both said.

Pike nodded. "That should be all for now. Get changed, go to class, don't answer any questions you might be asked. I'll be in touch if we need anything else. You boys did good."

"Thank you sir." McCoy said, "How's he doing?"

"He's in surgery, but I'm told the prognosis is positive."

"That's good." Jim nodded.

They all stood and were dismissed. Jim hesitated, clearly wanting to speak to Pike, but the Captain shook his head. "I'll see you for your appointment later, Kirk."

"Yes sir." Jim swallowed nervously. Pike turned his back on them both to talk quietly with Ricky, so McCoy tugged Jim out into the hall.

"What the hell was that about?" He demanded.

"What?" Jim asked, looking surprised.

"You. Practically putting your hand up and confessing."

Jim scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Bones, Finnegan and I hating each other is a well known aspect of campus gossip. Better it came from me than someone else."

"And how exactly did you manage to piss him off? And why didn't you tell me he assaulted you?" McCoy growled, shivering as they stepped out into the cold.

"I didn't tell you because it was no big deal." Jim said. "As for why he hates me…" he hesitated, then sighed. "Our parents served together."

"On the _Kelvin_." McCoy finished. When Jim looked at him questioningly he shrugged sheepishly. "After you left, I looked it up. I'm real sorry, Jim."

"Don't be." Jim said, "It was kinda nice you not knowing." He purposely misunderstood what it was McCoy was saying, but McCoy couldn't really blame him. His emotions were probably raw enough as it was. "Anyway, like I said. Finnegan's a bully. I just give him more reason than most to be antagonistic."

"It was a nice thing you did for him then, the things you said." McCoy tucked his palms under his arms to preserve heat.

"I didn't know how bad it was." Jim admitted. "And no one deserves to die thinking they are alone." He cast his gaze back towards the quad and the bronze statue McCoy had never realized held so much emotional value to him. What must that be like? To be the son of a man everyone idolized, but to never have even met him. "I better head back to the dorm. See you on the fields?"

Despite it all, McCoy couldn't stop a smile touching his lips. "You're not bailing on me, then?"

Jim shook his head, his mouth smiling but his eyes serious and troubled. "You kidding? This place suddenly just got far more interesting."


	13. Chapter 13

Hope you all are having a lovely weekend! xx

* * *

"What the hell sort of time do you call this?" Bones scowled blearily at Jim as he greeted him at the door, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Morning." Jim said, slipping past him into the small apartment. "It's morning."

"Barely." McCoy grumbled. "Do you actually sleep?"

"I sleep." Jim shrugged, marching over to the desk where McCoy kept his PADD waiting. "Where's your roommate?"

McCoy shrugged. "Lab."

"He's eager." Jim snorted.

"Says the man waking me up at four fifteen." McCoy scowled, his jaw popping with a yawn. "Why exactly is that again?"

Jim dragged him over to the desk and shoved McCoy into his seat. "Computer, coffee." He ordered, then shoved a data chip under Bones's nose.

"And that is?" McCoy asked, blindly trying to rescue his coffee from the pot.

"Friday morning's security footage from the quad." Jim said excitedly. "You need to see it."

Bones paused, coffee mug raising in tandem with his eyebrow. Jim had never met anyone with such expressive eyebrows before, but Bones could deliver entire monologues with his. "Security footage." Bones echoed. "Like the ones kept in the _secure_ Starefleet servers?"

"One and the same." Jim nodded, loading the chip.

"Damnit, Jim!" Bones growled. "You can't just…wait, did you_ hack into Starfleet servers?_"

"I've been telling their cryptologists that there's a weak spot in the firewalls for, like, _literally_ years now." Jim shrugged. Okay, so he hadn't outright _said_ anything because he'd like to avoid the kind of jail time that came associated with cyberterrorism, but he's broken in and left enough messages that you'd think someone would have clued into the problem.

"You say that like this isn't the first…it's not, is it? Goddamnit if we go to jail, Jim-"

"Relax Bones," Jim laughed breezily, "we're not going to jail." Bones huffed irritably. "Come on!" Jim whined. "Aren't you even a little bit curious?"

"Not really." Bones scowled. "There are people whose job it is to catch the guy responsible. My job is to not flunk out of my History class."

"You're not gonna flunk. Bones." Jim said absently. He didn't actually think McCoy had it in him to fail at anything. The man was brilliant at everything he did. Except perhaps flying, but they'd reach that bridge when they came to it. Bones grunted in disagreement but didn't complain more as the file loaded and Jim started the recording as Finnegan wandered into shot. "You were right, you know?" Jim said, "He'd been out there for nearly an hour before I found him." Jim didn't like Finnegan even a little bit, but he couldn't help feel sorry for the guy. Out there that long, semi-conscious and in pain. It couldn't have been fun.  
"What the hell was he doing out so damn early?" McCoy asked, leaning forward despite his supposed apathy.

"I was thinking about that." Jim admitted, "You remember what he said? 'Extra'?"

"Extra what?" McCoy frowned.

"I don't know." Jim admitted, "but here, look -" he pointed at the screen as a second figure came into sight.

"Can we see his face?" McCoy asked. Jim altered several of the angles on screen, but it was never enough to get more than a shadow. His face and head was covered by a hood. "Of course not." McCoy sighed when Jim tried. "Is there some kind of department store that caters to the wardrobe needs of criminals?"

Jim sniggered. "I don't think so, but hey, if the doctor thing fails you could set one up."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I don't get what's so important that you had to show this to me now." He admitted. "So Finnegan met some shady looking figure in the quad and got stabbed for his trouble but, I mean, it's not like this tells us anything we didn't already know."

Jim shook his head quickly. "No, no it does!" He said, leaning forwards earnestly. "Look! Finnegan knows who he is. They talk."

"Not that we can hear what they are saying." McCoy pointed out. They could see Finnegan's face quite clearly, but there was no audio.

"He's saying he's ready." Jim said.

McCoy leaned back in his chair. "No. You can't read lips."

"I can't?" Jim frowned.

Bones threw his hands in the air dramatically. "You can?"

Jim nodded. "Uh huh."

The penetrating scowl McCoy gave him was just starting to become uncomfortable when Bones finally spoke. "You're a spy, aren't you? You're secretly plotting the downfall of civilization with your evil overlords."

"Not so secretly." Jim grinned, shrugging. "And who says _I'm_ not the evil overlord?"

"You don't have the organizational skills." McCoy pointed out. "Or the patience."

Jim paused. It was a little scary how well McCoy knew him after only a few weeks. "Okay, fair point. Ready for what?"

"Is that all he says?" McCoy asked, looking back at the recording.

"Yeah." Jim said. "I don't know what he's talking about, but it's a start, right?" He looked eagerly over at McCoy.

"Start of what?" McCoy frowned.

Jim practically bounced from one foot to the other. "Our investigation!"

"What?" McCoy yelped. "No. No way."

"Come on, Bones!" Jim pleaded, tugging on his arm for extra effect. "I know you're curious."

"Not even a little." McCoy said firmly.

"A tiny bit." Jim insisted. "You're a tiny bit curious or you'd have thrown me out and gone back to bed."

"Something I'm regretting deeply." McCoy informed him. "Jim, for godsake, this has nothing to do with us."

"I beg to differ." Jim said stubbornly. "We need to know, Bones."

"Know what?" McCoy asked exasperatedly. "Why someone stabbed Finnegan? If he's as much an asshole as you made him out to be then the list is going to be pretty long."

"No," Jim shook his head seriously. "Whether Finnegan was the only target, or just the first." He met McCoy's eyes directly, imploring him to understand the bigger picture.

"You're doing this no matter what I say, aren't you?" McCoy sighed as he pinched his nose.

"Sorry Bones." Jim shrugged, actually feeling a little remorseful. Bones wasn't the kind of guy who got involved with stabbings and plots and idiots like Jim, but here they were. Jim hadn't even hesitated for a second when he'd found Finnegan, and Bones had come running even without knowing what had happened. Jim rather liked having someone he could call for back up…someone reliable. It probably wasn't fair of him but…well there was a bit of the security feed Jim wasn't about to show him.

Whoever had stabbed Finnegan had stuck around to watch him die, which suggested a level of complacency that didn't sit well with Jim. Whoever it was had stayed out of direct sight, but he was still there, visible on camera if not to those in the quad, when Jim found Finnegan.

And when Bones saved his life.

If Jim had inadvertently made himself a target, he might have made Bones one too.

He needed Bones to stick with him on this, just so Jim could keep an eye on him.

"Alright fine." McCoy huffed in annoyance. "Where exactly do we start?"

Jim fought the urge to dance in glee. He wasn't sure if McCoy would appreciate it, or just mock him relentlessly. "With the facts."

"Which are?"

"Well…he's taller than Finnegan, right? And Danny's my height, so he's what? Six two, six three?"

Bones looked at the footage again, then stood so he and Jim were facing each other. Bones only had an inch on Jim in height, but depending on where or how they stood, that difference could look both nonexistent or vastly exaggerated.

"He's probably more my height."

"Six one, okay." Jim nodded. "He looks about your weight as well."

"So we're looking for a guy who matches two-thirds of the cadets in the place." Bones snorted. "That narrows it down."

"He's left handed." Jim pointed out helpfully. "So, you know, if he _is_ a member of the Academy then what? There's eleven hundred of us here at any one time, sixty-nine percent of cadets are male _and_ he's left handed, so that only like…ninety-one people. We totally narrowed it down." Jim beamed at him.

"Great." McCoy nodded. "_We just go up to every guy here and say 'hi, are you a left handed because I think you might have stabbed someone_'?"

"If it works." Jim shrugged.

"This is all assuming that he _is_ at the Academy. He could be anyone." McCoy pointed out reasonably.

"He could be a tutor." Jim agreed. He had already thought of that.

"Or someone from outside entirely." McCoy said. "We have no idea why they were meeting."

"You're a doctor." Jim said as an idea suddenly came to him.

"Really? I'd not noticed." McCoy responded wryly.

"You're hysterical, really," Jim muttered, "but I mean…can you access Finnegan's medical file? See if he was on drugs when they brought him in?"

"You think this guy could be a dealer?" McCoy frowned. Jim shrugged. "In theory, yes, but cadets have to be tested every month for substance abuse. If he's on something it would have already flagged. And the board are really strict about it. One strike and you're out. Why would he risk it?"

"You know what the pressure is like, Bones. It gets worse, a lot worse." Jim said softly. "He wouldn't be the first person to try get an edge on the competition. Can you look?"

McCoy nodded reluctantly. "I'll try. What are you going to do?"

"Talk to his friends. See if they knew anything." Jim said.

"The same friends who've been hassling you?" McCoy asked, suddenly frowning. "You should have told me about that."

"It's fine Bones." Jim promised. "They're just being assholes, it's nothing I can't handle."

"You shouldn't have to handle it, Jim." Bones frowned. "You should report them."

"And what? Be a snitch as well as a fraud?" Jim snorted. Besides, he had no faith that even if he did report things anything would actually change. The only person who might be on his side would be Pike, and that would only make things worse. Jim had already heard the rumors that were starting to go around - how it was Pike who had got Jim into the Academy, and what exactly was Jim giving him in return? He wasn't going to drag Pike any further into his affairs if he could help it. It was the least he could do, especially after he'd let Jim get away with what had happened the other night.

"You're not a fraud, Jim." McCoy said in surprise. "What gave you that idea?" Jim waved the question away. He wasn't in the mood to discuss that with Bones now.

"So? We're doing this?" He said instead.

McCoy let it go but his expression made it clear how much he wasn't happy. "Fine." He said irritably. "I'll look at the kid's records. Now will you please go away and let me sleep? We can catch up at breakfast."

Jim nodded. That sounded good to him. "I'll talk to Mitchell and Anderson after PT."

"Great," McCoy said, herding Jim towards the door. "Now go home and sleep."

"Uh huh." Jim said, speaking to a closing door.

He wasn't going back to the dorm. For one, he was too wired. For another, his dorm mates had progressed from ignoring him to actively trying to screw him over. None of them had worked up the nerve to actually challenge Jim to his face, but their passive aggressive bullshit was getting old real fast. It probably didn't help that as well as the rumors going around that he was only in the Academy because of his father, that he cheated on his test scores and was quite possibly fucking around with Pike. There was also the one that had Jim stabbing Finnegan himself. Jim had never actively been disliked by so many people for things he actually hadn't done. It was frustrating and a little hurtful. At least in the past people had always had good reasons for hating him.

So no, he wasn't planning on sleeping. He headed instead to the tracks. He'd burn off some excess energy, then hunt Finnegan's asshole buddies down for a chat. That was far better use of his time.

* * *

Come breakfast, Jim was regretting just about every decision he had made since enlisting, and most of all the ones that included the idea of befriending McCoy.

No way was the doc going to miss this one. Jim wasn't even sure he could fool himself, let alone Bones.

He was late arriving, and Bones was already inside the mess hall, musing over a bowl of cinnamon porridge and his ever present cup of black coffee. He looked up and scowled at Jim. "You know I was up the rest of the night thanks to you and your plots."

"Hmm?" Jim responded, trying to focus on his breathing.

"You look like shit." McCoy said critically. "You not sleep either?" Jim shook his head and the world spun dizzyingly. "How'd it go with Finnegan's buddies?"

Jim shrugged and almost passed out. "Coulda gone better." He admitted, tasting blood.

Bones was suddenly pushing back from his seat and standing in alarm. "Jim, what happened?" He demanded.

_They think I stabbed him and had a problem with it,_ Jim tried to say. He ended up coughing instead and frowned before trying to rub away the red splatters of blood he'd got on Bones's uniform.

"You're hurt." Bones said, bracing Jim's arm.

"No, I'm not." Jim said firmly, and then unceremoniously passed out in the middle of the hall.


	14. Chapter 14

McCoy was on his fifth cup of coffee that evening, the buzz doing nothing to ease the tired grittiness behind his eyes. He'd been sat in the same hard chair for the past six hours, slowly losing feeling in his ass. Being on the other side of the doors was impossibly trying, even with the information he was being drip fed by some of the more compassionate nurses.

Doctor Gregorivich was Jim's overseeing surgeon and McCoy didn't know much about him beyond hospital gossip. He was still carving a space for himself in a new position and was too far down the ladder for someone of Gregorovich's status to pay much attention to. General consensus was that he was a good doctor - a solid surgeon - and that Jim was in safe hands.

Which was good, because when McCoy got a hold of him he was going to strangle the little bastard. _Not hurt_ McCoy's ass. Even without having the kid under a scanner McCoy had been able to diagnose severe blunt force trauma and probable pneumothorax. In what kind of world did that class as not being hurt?

He ran a weary hand over his face. What the hell was taking so long?

"This seat taken?" McCoy glanced up at Christopher Pike and wondered if they'd ever actually share a conversation when Jim wasn't in some kind of trouble. Damn kid was a magnet for the worst kind of luck.

"Be my guest." He said, taking a sip of his now cold coffee.

Pike took a seat cautiously, his back ramrod straight and his uniform as perfect as ever. Even his expression was placid and relaxed. The only thing that gave away his worry were the slight wrinkles around his eyes. "Has there been any word?" Pike asked, not looking at him but straight ahead at the door that separated them from Jim.

McCoy shook his head. "No, but given the damage he went in with I'm not surprised. Tell me you caught the bastards who did this."

Pike inclined his head ever so slightly. "Cadets Mitchell and Anderson were operating under the assumption that Kirk was responsible for their friend's stabbing."

"So they decided to do what? Practically beat him to death?" McCoy hissed in outrage. "Finnegan's only alive because Jim found him, and this is the thanks he gets?"

"Kid's got shitty luck, McCoy, what do you want me to say?" Pike asked sternly.

"That Jim'll get the justice he deserves and you'll start doing something about the shitty way people are treating him around here. You know Gioni makes him do twice the work of the rest of us in PT? And I know he's not the only one. If everyone's so in love with George Kirk, why the hell are they being such shits to the man's son?"

"Politics, McCoy," Pike said wearily. "It's always politics. The other cadets dislike him because they believe he gets preferential treatment. The instructors are so harsh with him as to avoid the appearance of favoritism."

"So he's screwed whichever way you look at it." McCoy said flatly.

"You're not a true Starfleet man, McCoy. Your family has no prior links with us. Many of the cadets here have a family history with Starfleet that goes back generations. The Kirk's, and indeed his mother's family the Davis's have been members of Starfleet for as long as we have existed. The kind of reputation they had was nothing to be sneered at even before what happened on the Kelvin, an event now as well known for its tragedy as much as George's heroism. After so long, subject to public opinion, people had formed their own ideas as to what the son of one of our most celebrated heroes would be like."

"I'm guessing Jim's not it." McCoy scoffed. Not that any of them tried getting to know the kid.

"Jim has a chip on his shoulder the size of a small planet and no respect for authority." Pike said wryly. "He's here because I dared him when he was drunk enough to think it was a good idea and is now too stubborn to wash out."

"That's not true." McCoy disagreed. "I mean, sure he might act like a cocky little shit, but he loves this stuff. He can, and annoyingly does, talk about warp physics for hours. He speaks better Andorian than our instructor, and he talks about things in Federation History like he was actually there."

"He might have been for some of it." Pike snorted. "And if not, then I'd not put it past him to know someone who was. His family is incredibly well connected."  
"And yet he didn't have a credit account until he came here and owns exactly one set of civilian clothes." McCoy said suspiciously.

"His enlistment was sort of a last minute thing." Pike said enigmatically.

"His family couldn't send him his stuff?" McCoy pushed. Jim had said his mom was dead and obviously George wasn't in the picture, but he must have been raised by someone. He didn't just pop up out of thin air.

Pike's eyebrow rose as if he sensed McCoy was fishing for information. "Just because you ignore the correspondences from your family does not mean Jim is in a similar position."

"What the hell do you know about that?" McCoy snapped, outraged that Pike might have been prying into his family life.

"It's my job to know what is happening with my Cadets, McCoy." Pike said.

"Leonard McCoy?" McCoy was saved from punching out a Captain by the arrival of Doctor Gregorovich. He held out a hand for McCoy to shake, something McCoy doubted he'd have done if they hadn't both been doctors.

"How is he?" McCoy asked, all thoughts of Pike forgotten.

"Stable." Gregorovich said. "He's a stubborn one."

"Don't I know it." McCoy muttered. "Look, I know I can't treat him but-"

"I've authorized you to access his files. From what I understand you've made some headwork into his allergy workup over the past few weeks?"

"Yeah. Kid's immune system is a mess." McCoy said, something of an understatement.

"He came out from sedation twice while he was on the table." Gregorovich said. "He's got one hell of a metabolism."

"Damnit Jim." McCoy muttered. "Thanks. For fixing him up."

Gregorovich shook his head. "Nice to be challenged once in a while." It was the kind of comment that, between two doctors, was nothing new or all that controversial, but as Jim's friend McCoy felt his hackles rise. Gregorovich must have seen something of it on his face because he stepped aside. "He's in bay twelve."

McCoy didn't bother waiting. He marched down the hall towards the recovery unit and didn't stop until he was at the foot of Jim's bed. There, he hesitated.  
Pike went right to the bedside and put his hand on Jim's, gently taking affirmation of his health. McCoy swallowed, not knowing how much of his own contact would be welcome. For all that Jim was forever in his personal space, he was very prickly about _how_ such moves were conducted. McCoy didn't know him well enough to take liberties without him being conscious.

Instead he accessed Jim's file, reviewing the data from the surgery and reading between the lines as to what exactly those bastards had done to Jim to land him in such a mess.

"Is this…how long will they keep this in?" Pike asked, indicating the tube that was still inserted in Jim's chest.

"Until they're sure they've drained all the fluid buildup in his lungs." McCoy said, feeling more sympathetic for Pike now he was seeing him like this. Most of the stern faced persona was gone and the worry was evident.

Pike nodded and squeezed Jim's hand. "You're determined to turn me gray kid, aren't you?" Jim turned his head groggily at the sound of Pike's voice. "Hey. Easy, easy." He soothed, gently settling Jim down as he tried to move.

Jim blinked up, his eyes cloudy with the lingering effects of the sedation. "Dad?" He asked, voice soft and hopeful.

Pike flinched back sharply and let go of Jim's hand. He gaped at Jim, his expression something half hurt, half desperate.

McCoy swallowed and stepped in. "Hey kid." He said, drawing Jim's attention away from Pike.

Jim blinked again and frowned, no doubt struggling to place McCoy. "Bones?"

"Yeah, it's me. Take it easy. You got your ass kicked."

"Oops?" Jim ventured, settling back down, his hand creeping up to touch the tube in his chest.

"Ah, ah, no touching." McCoy said, grasping his fingers and setting his hand back down on the mattress. "You need to do as you're told and behave. You're in a bad way, Jim."

"M'fine." Jim slurred. "Where's Pike? Was he here?"

"Ye-" But when McCoy looked up, he was alone by Jim's bed. Turning back to the confused look on Jim's face he schooled his expression. "He's sorting out some things."

"Oh."

"How's your pain?" McCoy asked.

"You my doc?"

"No. I'm your friend. Your worried friend." McCoy said. "Your worried, _angry_ friend."

"You're angry?" Jim frowned, struggling to stay awake.

"Damn right I am."

"With me?"

"With a lot of things." McCoy said, unable to face putting a hurt expression on Jim's already confused face.

"Oh. Sorry."

"I'll lecture you when you can stay awake long enough to appreciate it." McCoy smiled. "I'm working on a doozy."

"That's nice." Jim said, his eyes closing.

"Sleep, Jim." McCoy said gently.

"Stay?" Jim asked him.

McCoy squeezed his hand and settled down in the chair next to the bed. "Not going anywhere."


	15. Chapter 15

*waves*

Sorry for the absence :( Blob was getting bored, I think. He decided that life was too quiet and I needed to make things more exciting for him. On the mend now but it's been a delightfully sucky week. :( I missed you guys!

Anyway, here be the next chapter, made so much better thanks to Tishbing.

xx

* * *

"That better not be work." Jim studiously ignored McCoy as he dropped down into the chair at the side of Jim's bed. At least until McCoy grabbed the PADD from his hands and confiscated it with a glare. "You know you're not supposed to be doing that."

"Pike said I could!" Jim protested, making a grab for the PADD that was hindered considerably by the goddamn tube still sticking out of his chest.

"He said you could do an a hour a day." McCoy scowled.

"So I'm doing my hour!" Jim protested, matching McCoy's expression with his own irritated frown.

"Only your nurse tells me you've been at it since I left you this morning." McCoy said.

Jim cringed. "She's lying?" McCoy didn't look impressed. "She's confused? Blind?"

"You're overdoing it, kid." McCoy said. "And I will take this away from you permanently if you don't slow down."

"Bones, I'm bored!" Jim whined. "I hate being stuck here. You could convince them to sign me out..."

"Not happening." McCoy said firmly.

"Then I need to make sure I keep up with my classes. Gioni's already gonna be all over my ass in PT, I can't -"

"Can't what, Jim? Can't rest and recuperate like a man with five broken ribs and a tube keeping his lungs from filling up with fluid?"

"I can't fall behind." Jim said quietly. "Besides, they aren't bust any more." Jim added hopefully. He wasn't even sore, which he supposed he could thank Bones for. Having a friend, especially a friend who was a doctor, turned out to be fairly useful. Bones had spent much of the last few days working through Jim's allergy profile and he'd finally isolated a painkiller that didn't have the adverse effect of closing Jim's airways.

Bones continued to scowl at him, but eventually said, "You like math, right?"

Jim blinked. "Is that a trick question?"

"Surprisingly not." McCoy snorted. "But, okay. So right now you're set to be here for another four days, correct."

Jim grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"Right. Well I can tell you this now kid, if you keep pushing, you're gonna turn that four into eight, and so on. We're trying to be really careful here, Jim. If your lungs get an infection you're screwed and your four days of not doing any work will end up being a hell of a lot longer."

It wasn't that Jim didn't appreciate that, or understand, or even accept it, but: "_But I'm bored._" He whined again. "The only people here are asshole doctors and nurses who secretly want to kill said asshole doctors, and a bunch of whiny, boring sick people."

"That's why it's called a _hospital,_ kid." McCoy said dryly.

"Why would you want to work with sick people? Or doctors?" Jim asked. "Sick people are boring and doctors are assholes."

"So you've said." McCoy said mildly. "You realize you're talking to a doctor here, right?"

Jim couldn't help but grin tiredly at the look on McCoy's face. "Yeah, but you're weird." He said.

"That's what you say to the guy who looked up Finnegan's medical files for you - illicitly, I might add?" McCoy asked, eyebrow raised.

Jim wriggled up so he had a more comfortable position in the bed and leaned forwards eagerly. "You did? What did you find?"

"Nothing." McCoy said, making Jim's shoulders slump miserably. He'd hoped it was as simple as a drug deal gone bad. It would have been unpleasant, but it would have at least eliminated premeditated maliciousness. Better Finnegan be messing around with illegal drugs than the alternative.

"Damn." He said.

"It was worth a shot, Jim." McCoy said sympathetically.

"Yeah, but where does that leave us?"

"It leaves you in the hospital, idiot." McCoy scowled. "They could have killed you."

Jim fought the urge to roll his eyes. He'd been waiting on this for the past two days, ever since he'd shaken off the last of the anesthesia. "But they didn't."

"Not through lack of trying." McCoy huffed.

Jim settled back against the pillow, feeling tired and sore and increasingly cranky. He wasn't used to entertaining company while he was injured. Most of the time he tended to find some place quiet and secure and locked himself away to lick his wounds in private.

"They weren't trying to kill me, Bones." Mitchell and Anderson might be assholes - short sighted, trigger happy assholes for sure - but they didn't have that killer instinct. "They were just upset. They thought I'd hurt Finnegan."

Bones's mouth pulled into an unhappy line. "Jim," he said, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on the edge of Jim's bed, "when I saw what they did to you, I could have killed them."

The vehemence in Bones's voice took Jim by surprise. "You wouldn't have."

"No," Bones nodded seriously, "probably not, but see that's because I am a rational person who knows that perpetuating violence gets you nowhere. The same can't be said for your asshole classmates."

"Rational? You?" Jim asked, unable to stop himself from grinning. Bones was hotheaded and irritable, lots of words came to mind when thinking about him. Rational wasn't anywhere near the top of the list.

That won him a scowl. "Did they even give you a chance to explain what happened?" McCoy asked, ignoring his comments.

Jim slumped back against the pillows in annoyance. "Not exactly." He said reluctantly.

He'd already given Pike his statement, keeping things as vague as he could. He hadn't wanted to give away his true motivations for seeking them out, not that it had really mattered. They'd known even less that he had, something made obvious by the way they'd kicked the crap out of him before he'd said more than '_hey, we need to talk about Danny'._

"There's got to be something we are missing." Jim said, trying to turn the conversation back to more pressing topics.

"Your brain?" McCoy suggested.

"Cute, Bones." Jim snarked.

"I'll say he is. Doctors here are yummy!" Jim turned his scowl from McCoy and blinked in surprise at the red headed Orion girl he'd met in the bar a few weeks back. Gaila was smiling prettily, a paper bag and a balloon clutched in her hands. Next to her stood a decidedly unimpressed looking Uhura.

"Is it time for my sponge bath?" Jim felt the smile spread across his face and didn't try stop it.

"Where do we sign up?" Gaila beamed, looking rather enthusiastic at the thought. It was almost instinct to give her the once over and his smile grew. Unlike Uhura, whose glare only seemed to deepen when he glanced over at her, Gaila just winked back. This, he decided, was a woman he needed to spend more time with. Preferably lots of time. Preferably while naked. God, he missed being naked. Hospital gowns sucked.

"I'll get the sponge." Uhura said.

Jim's eyes lit up. Now _that_ was a way to spend the rest of his day. "Really?" He asked.

"Well I need to choke you with something." Uhura shrugged gracefully.

"A little rough for my tastes, but for you I'd make an exception." Jim said, waggling his eyebrows.

"I think Gaila's claimed you," Uhura said, "though who the hell knows why?"

"Aw, come on Uhura, there's enough of me to share." Jim beamed at the ever sharpening daggers Uhura was sending his way.

"Can we help you ladies?" Bones asked, breaking up the bickering. Jim wasn't sure if it was a rescue or a bubble buster, or somewhere between the two.

"Captain Barnett told us what happened." Uhura said, no more friendly, but still less hostile.

"He did?" Jim asked, surprised. Barnett was hardly what you'd call his number one fan, and it wasn't like he was close to either Uhura or Gaila. They weren't even in the same year, though Jim had every intention of that not being the case once he tested out early.

"There was an assembly." Gaila said. "Are you in a lot of pain?" Her eyes softened with concern.

Jim shrugged. "Nah."

"Pity." Uhura muttered.

"I like her." Bones said, whispering at Jim's side.

"We brought grapes!" Gaila said brightly. "Apparently it's a human custom to bring them to invalided acquaintances." She placed the bag in Jim's hand and he found himself staring at them in shock. No one had ever brought him anything while he was injured before.

"And the balloon?" McCoy asked, eying the giant purple bubble that floated by Gaila's head. For some reason it had the words 'Congratulations!' on the side.

"They were out of 'sorry to see you got your ass kicked'." Uhura explained.

"It's awesome!" Jim grinned, making grabby hands for the balloon. "Thanks." He peered into the bag of grapes and his smile started to hurt. "Green ones! They got me the green ones!The green ones are the best."

"Congratulations Jim, you know your colors." Bones rolled his eyes.

"Well now you're not having any." Jim pouted, clutching both grapes and balloon to his chest.

Gaila sat herself down on the edge of the bed. They'd only ever spoken the once, both of them slightly fuzzy around the edges with alcohol and exhaustion. That she, and Uhura for that matter, had come to see him made Jim feel warm inside. "Barnett told us what happened. That you saved Danny's life."

"Bones did that." Jim shook his head. "With his mad doctor skills."

Bones was shaking his head just as quickly. "You called me, kid."

"Just good timing, I guess." Jim said awkwardly. "How's he doing?"

"Good." Gaila said. "They're talking about letting him out tomorrow."

Jim nodded thoughtfully, already planning a way to speak to him before he was released. The hospital couldn't be that big after all, how hard could he be to find? "That's good."

"Why didn't you fight back?" Uhura's question startled him. "I've seen you fight, Kirk. You don't give in, even when you should."

"Why Cadet Uhura, is that concern I detect in your voice?" Jim smirked at her, trying to deflect the question.

"In your dreams, Kirk." Uhura scoffed.

"Ah, but you do appear quite frequently in my dreams. Usually in something skimpy," Jim said, popping a grape into his mouth. "Oh my god these are good."

"I hope you choke on it." Uhura said with a strained smile.

"I don't," Bones grumbled, "you have any idea how much paperwork I'd have to fill out?"

Jim shot Bones a betrayed pout. Uhura flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Come on, Gaila. He's still alive, can we go now?"

"I probably should take her away," Gaila said in an overly loud whisper. "But I can come back and visit later."

"You should totally do that." Jim nodded. "We have grapes."

"And a balloon." Gaila giggled.

"We can be creative."

"Not here you can't." Bones cut in, scowling. "You're resting, remember?"

"I am resting!" Jim protested. "See, reclining and everything."

"Your heart rate says differently." Bones said dryly, eying the monitor at the side of Jim's bed.

"That is just a gross violation of my privacy," Jim huffed.

"You want privacy, try not to bust all your damn ribs. Or better yet, tell someone when you are injured instead of passing out on them in the mess hall."

"That," Uhura said, "would be our cue to leave. Say goodbye, Gaila." She tugged on her roommate's arm.

"Bye Jimmy," Gaila laughed, "I'll come back and visit later." She waved as she went. Uhura, unsurprisingly, did not.

"Bones is on shift tomorrow after lunch," Jim called after her.

"No, I'm not." Bones said, confiscating Jim's balloon.

"Yes, you are, I checked with Nurse Chapel." Jim said, making a grab for his stolen gift, "Gimme that!"

"Start behaving and I will." Bones countered.

"Bones!"

"And stop whining." McCoy said, fastening the balloon to the foot of Jim's bed.

"You suck." Jim said, gingerly crossing his arms over his chest, avoiding the bandages.

"No," Bones smirked, "I think you'll find I don't," he announced, marching away from the bed and taking Jim's PADD with him.

Jim gaped at him as he left. "Wait, did you just make a joke? Do you actually have a sense of humor under all that grump? Bones? Bones! Boooones!" But McCoy didn't stop walking away and Jim was still tired enough that getting up and following seemed like a whole lot of unnecessary effort. He fell back against the bed with an exaggerated huff and picked idly at his grapes, back now to square one. "God, I'm bored."


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks for all the lovely well wishes! You guys are amazing. Blob sends his apologies, I send love. Jim sends trouble. So, business as usual then!

* * *

McCoy marched through the halls of the hospital, mindless of the bodies that quickly scattered as he passed. His head was still ringing from the mountain of shit that had just been dumped on him and he was actively looking for the right target to transfer his anger to. He found it seconds after entering the ward, eyes focusing on the bed in the corner and narrowing.

"Jim!" He yelled, starting several of the nurses and drawing attention from the other patients. He had to forcibly calm himself down, remind himself that he was a mature, professional man who didn't strangle people in their beds, even when those people were Jim Kirk.

"Bones!" Jim said brightly, looking up from what looked like a goddamn tea party to flash McCoy that _aren't I so adorable, I could never possibly do anything wrong _smile of his. McCoy had learned a lot in his month at the Academy. He'd learned he could do more pushups than he thought, that Andorians had the weirdest sense of humor ever and that telling a Tellarite to go fuck his mother was actually something of a compliment. He'd also learned that Jim was never _ever_ as innocent as he looked. "You want tea? We have tea."

The 'we' in question was Jim's redheaded Orion friend. McCoy couldn't begrudge her presence, not since she was the only person who had actually visited Jim, but he couldn't help but think that they were not the best influences on each other. Partly down to the matching grins, but mostly because his sanity wanted to run screaming at the sight of them. Jim alone was bad enough. The damn kid flirted with furniture, god alone knew what would happen when you added an Orion to the mix.

"No, Jim. I don't want tea." McCoy said, voice strained and his teeth gritted. "But I would like to know why I just spent the last two hours trying to convince Doctor Joyce that it is not actually possible for a cadet to use a biobed to tap into the hospital servers and…" Oh no, no he did not. That little _brat_. "No, no, no, no. You did _not_."

Jim didn't look even a little repentant the little bastard. "You took my PADD." He said, as if this was McCoy's fault.

"I took…I took…" McCoy struggled to find the words and ended up looming over Jim, physically resisting the urge to throttle him. _"I took your damn PADD because you are supposed to be resting!" _He snarled. "Now I don't care how clever you think you are, but you do not fuck around with the medical equipment that is monitoring your damn health."

"Technically I-"

McCoy growled furiously. "Listen to me very carefully, Cadet Kirk," he hissed, purposely reminding Jim of his position, "we might be friends, but if you think for one second that I will let you compromise your health you are dead wrong. Now you have two options. Option one, you behave yourself, you stop messing around and you rest, like you are supposed to, and if, in forty-eight hours, you get the all clear, I'll sign you out myself."

Jim looked utterly stunned, and more than a little confused. McCoy had felt sure that he'd be seeing more of that well hidden hostility and anger, but if anything Jim looked almost contrite.

McCoy purposely softened his stance, knowing that even if his voice remained harsh and angry, he didn't actively want to frighten the kid with his body language. "Option two, I have you sedated for the duration of your stay here."

Jim swallowed, "You can't do that." He challenged.

"Actually I can." McCoy corrected. "See, I'm a doctor, you're a patient, and this is a hospital."

"Maybe I should come back later?" Gaila said gently, packing away the remains of their little tea party into her bag. "I can bring you some trashy novels to read?" She put to Jim, her eyes and her smile soft. "I've got this great one about a detective with three personalities and each one tries to solve the case but it all gets really messy and someone sleeps with a Minotaur, or it might have been a matador, I can't remember…I can bring it by before class?"

Jim nodded, a small, hunched movement. "Thanks Gaila." He said quietly. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, speaking to Jim softly in a dialect McCoy supposed was Orion. He was surprised when Jim responded in kind and she blew him another kiss.

Jim's expression soured as he looked from her to McCoy. He threw himself back against the pillows with more force and fidgeted violently before curling on his side and giving McCoy nothing but the back of his head to go on.

"What are you doing?" McCoy asked exasperatedly as Jim wrestled with his bed sheets.

"Resting." Jim's snappy response was half muffled by the pillow he pressed his face into. "Now fuck off and leave me alone."

McCoy sighed. "Jim-"

Jim ignored him.

McCoy didn't push. Jim could be incredibly childish when he felt like it, especially when his ego took a beating. McCoy reminding him of his place would have done that. He couldn't help but worry that it also might have upset the kid.

Shaking his head, he gave Jim's vitals a brief one over before heading back to the main station. He was technically on duty, and though he was overseeing the ward, he wasn't Jim's primary. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Try not to be angry with him, Doctor McCoy." Gaila was waiting at the station, holding out a thermos of what smelled like coffee for him.

"I'm not angry." McCoy denied, accepting the thermos reluctantly. The coffee replicated here was disgusting.

"You are worried, though." She said, leaning back against the wall. "You wouldn't be so hard on him otherwise."

"Of course I'm worried! He's acting like some reckless child. You know he's been caught trying to sneak out of bed eight times since he got here! Six hours in surgery and he's acting like it's no big deal, not to mention what he did with the computers, something _I'm_ getting heat for I might add. He's-"

"Confined to a bed surrounded by people he doesn't know and doesn't trust, worried that whoever attacked Danny is going to hurt someone else." Gaila interjected gently.

McCoy dragged his hand over his face tiredly. "That isn't his responsibility." He said, frustrated, mostly with himself. He never should have agreed to help Jim with his little bout of detective work. Look where it led.

"He saved Danny's life. That makes him responsible." Gaila shrugged. "At least that's how it works where I come from."

"All due respect, but Jim's not Orion."

Gaila grinned. "No he isn't. I don't really know what he is."

"You and me both." McCoy grumbled.

She flashed him a coy smile. "Don't you want to find out?"

McCoy had no answer for that. She was right, but that didn't mean he needed to admit it, not out loud at least.

* * *

Shortly before his shift ended, McCoy collected Jim's medication and made his way over to the bed. To his surprise, Jim had actually done as McCoy had told him, not moving from that stubbornly curled position and actually managing to get in a couple of hours sleep here and there.

He knew how frustrating it had to be for someone of Jim's temperament to be so inactive, and he appreciated the effort Jim had made, so in hopes of offering an olive branch, McCoy had snagged him an extra pudding cup from the canteen. Jim never seemed to have a preference for any one kind of food, hell, he'd probably skip meals if McCoy didn't remind him, certainly on Sundays when they had no class schedule to fit meals around. He did, however, have a weakness for caramel pudding. Eating it absentmindedly at lunch one day and looking rather upset when he reached the end and found no more left.

McCoy hoped it might soothe some ruffled feathers. He wanted Jim to rest and recover, but he didn't like that he had to bully the kid in order for it to happen. He liked being Jim's friend, but he didn't enjoy being his doctor.

"Hey kid." McCoy said, even summoning up a smile as he circled Jim's bedside.

Jim stirred, rolling over to face him. Progress there at least. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then paused, frowning at the hypo in McCoy's hand. Suddenly he was scooting back, his hand outstretched in a way that could either be defensive or imploring. "No, Bones please don't. I'm resting, see! Please don't, please. I'll do what you want I'll-"

"Whoa, easy Jim." McCoy said, sitting on the edge of the bed and dumping his offerings on the side table so he could take Jim's outstretched arms in his hands. "What are you talking about?" Jim's eyes stayed fixed on the hypo and a nasty feeling curled in McCoy's stomach. "No, god no. I'm not sedating you Jim. It's just your antibiotics. I wouldn't do that, I promise."

"You said you would." Jim accused him.

McCoy sighed. "I also said I'd ring your damn fool neck if you made me run that godforsaken assault course again, but you did, and I didn't, so I think you can take most of the things I say when I'm mad with a pinch of salt." Jim continued to fix him with those damned eyes and McCoy felt his shoulders sag. How exactly was it that he could have done nothing Jim didn't deserve and still feel like he'd drowned someone's puppy? "I promise." McCoy said. "I'm not going to put you to sleep."

"It's not that I don't trust you," Jim said hesitantly, "it's just-"

"You don't trust me," McCoy said, half smiling. "It's the same hypo you've had three times a day since you got out of surgery. You can check if you like. I know you know how to reroute the security protocols on your bed's computer."

Jim looked down, hiding a sheepish smile. "Sorry?"

"Yeah, me too." McCoy said. "I brought you pudding."

Jim perked up instantly. "Caramel pudding? Bones, you're the best!" And just like that, all seemed to be forgiven. It was damn exhausting being Jim Kirk's only friend.

Well, maybe not only…

"So, you and Gaila, huh?"

"What are you, thirteen?" Jim scoffed, gleefully tearing the lid off the pudding cup while McCoy administered the hypo.

"Says the guy who had a tea party." McCoy rolled his eyes. "What was that about?"

"I think Uhura was winding her up." Jim shrugged. "But hey, we had fun. At least until someone's grumpy raincloud of doom spoiled the party."

"I am not a grumpy raincloud." McCoy said, slightly offended.

"Sure." Jim snorted, mouth full of pudding.

"I wouldn't have to be raincloudy-" God, Jim was ruining his brain cells, he really was, "if you didn't misappropriate hospital property. My ears are still ringing from Joyce's screaming."

Jim cringed. "I didn't mean to get you into trouble. I honestly didn't think anyone would notice."

"Of course not, why would they notice?" McCoy scowled. "What were you doing, anyway?"

"Trying to read Danny's report." Jim admitted, looking guilty. "I know you read it, but-"

"But you don't trust me." McCoy said again.

"It's not that simple, Bones." Jim looked pained. "It's not you."

"You know even my ex-wife didn't give me the 'it's not you, it's me' spiel."

McCoy snorted. He knew that would spike Jim's curiosity. Just as McCoy tried not to pry into Jim's life, Jim paid him the same respect. He wondered if the kid would push, given their earlier spat.

Jim didn't. "Is she as adorable and charming as I am?" He asked, batting his eyelashes ridiculously.

"Adorable is not a word one associates with Jocelyn." McCoy laughed, unable to imagine his wife- ex-wife - giving him the look Jim currently was. Joce was beautiful and she knew it. Such playful acts of self-mockery were below her.

"Well, I am hard to compete with." Jim agreed.

"Eat your pudding, Jim." McCoy said wryly.

Jim grinned around his spoon as McCoy's comm beeped. "Duty calling?"

McCoy stared down at the message he'd been sent. Jim might not have faith in his ability to spot all the details in Finnegan's medical file, but McCoy had done the best he could. He also added himself in to the alert system which would message him as and when the cadet's status was changed. He'd hoped this way he'd be able to keep track of when Finnegan was discharged without raising too many eyebrows by asking outright.

"Bones?" Jim asked, frowning. "Everything okay."

"It's Finnegan," McCoy said, glancing up from the message.

"They letting him out?" Jim asked. "Damn, I wanted to talk to him before he went back to campus."

"No, Jim…" McCoy shook his head numbly. "They aren't checking him out. He's…" He'd never had problems saying this before and couldn't for the life of him understand why he was now, "He's dead, Jim."


	17. Author's Note

Hi guys, I'm sorry for the lack of update. I never thought I'd make a non-post post, but didn't want you to think I'd abandoned the story or dropped off the face of the earth. Blob's been having some fun with my blood pressure but we're pretty sure it's all calming down now and I hope to be back to you very shortly with more Academy shenanigans. Thank you so much for all the lovely messages you've sent me, I really do appreciate them, and thanks for hanging with me on this unexpected hiatus! Much love, Bea & Blob x 


	18. Chapter 17

Yay! We're back in action! Thank you so much for hanging with me, and for all the support and lovely messages. I'm so lucky to have such wonderful people in my life! xx

* * *

"Come on Bones! Five more." Jim's cheerful voice sounded from above McCoy's head.

"I hate you." McCoy grunted. "So much."

"If you can still talk you're not putting enough effort in." Jim taunted, pushing back against McCoy's elevated feet. "Four more!"

McCoy bit back against the instinctive urge to yell at the kid and settled for tightening his grip on Jim's ankles instead. He was flat on his back with Jim's feet on either side of his head, and simultaneously raising his legs up to tap against Jim's outstretched hands while plotting Gioni's downfall. PT had taken a brutal turn for the worse in the last two weeks. Apparently they were suitably broken in enough for the real hard work to begin. All McCoy knew was that everything from his eyebrows down burned when he tried to move and that morning he'd been very close to tears at the thought of climbing the steps into the mess hall.

He tightened his grip on Jim's ankles for extra leverage and hauled his legs up for one final tap before they hit the ground with a muffled whimper. When his abs stopped burning with the fiery rage of his ex-wife and all her lawyers, he gingerly climbed to his feet, accepting Jim's arm up. "All right hotshot, your turn."

Jim flashed him a customary wink and laid himself down on the matt, his hands curling around McCoy's ankles. It took him only a few reps to settle into a rhythm and then he was plowing through the exercises. After three weeks of watching the kid like a hawk, McCoy could tell the difference between the easy grace Jim had used to apply to all their PT and this new, fiercely fixated, almost zoned out approach he took now. He'd healed up from the beating he'd taken a few weeks back, but McCoy knew he was still experiencing some lingering pain, especially when they were forced to churn out a few hundred adnominal exercises a pop. Medically Jim was fit for training again, but McCoy knew he was struggling some times.

He'd give the kid his dues though. Not a peep out of him in complaint. If anything McCoy had to stop him doing too much. He was adamant he'd be back in fighting form by Thanksgiving and he wasn't about to let anything stop that.

Gioni passed them when Jim was about half way through his second rep and McCoy scowled at him, daring him to tell Jim he wasn't doing them right, or working hard enough, or just continuing with the bullshit he'd been firing the kid's way since day one. He was surprised when Gioni passed without comment, and he was grateful.

As soon as Jim was done McCoy hauled him to his feet so they could move on to the next part of the circuit. Their class were all paired up and running through the same intense routine of high energy, multi rep sets. As usual, they were in direct competition with one another. McCoy and Jim weren't winning, but they weren't losing either, which McCoy took as a victory since his legs were contemplating mutiny and Jim's ribcage had only recently been reassembled. He figured that so long as they stayed somewhere in the middle Gioni would leave them be.

"You hanging in there, Bones?" Jim asked, his cheeks flushed pink with exertion. For all that he must be hurting, he always stopped to check McCoy was keeping pace okay. It was oddly sweet, or would be if it weren't followed by a more fitting insult. "You want me to fetch you a cane, old man?"

McCoy had caught his breath back in the time Jim had been doing his reps. He could have responded, but since they were headed to the chin up bar he settled for just flipping Jim the finger.

They both found the chin ups easier. McCoy had always packed a lot of upper body strength and Jim was a wiry bastard. Still, after three sets of fifty reps a pop they were both thinking longingly of the end of the course.

Of food.

That, and a hot shower. Oh god, a hot shower. That sounded like heaven. Blissful, decadent heaven. If hot water and steam were waiting for him in the afterlife then McCoy was totally okay with dying right there, right then.

"So…It's friday." Jim said as he dropped down to the ground, last set of reps complete.

McCoy grunted out the last few moves then hit the floor with a groan. "I'm aware of that." He said, rubbing sweat from his eyes.

"So?" Jim prompted as they made the final sprint towards the tall wall at the end of the run. They'd done this so many times now that McCoy moved into place out of habit, his back hitting the wall, his knees braced and his fingers laced together. Jim placed his foot in the cradle of McCoy's hands and used the boost to haul himself up to the top of the wall. "Are we going to put our plan into action or what?" He asked, hooking his knees over the other side of the wall as a brace, then leaning all the way back so McCoy could reach his hand and use it to pull himself up. His heels banged against the wall as he flung his leg over one side and hauled Jim upright again.

"Your plan. It's your plan, Jim." McCoy corrected as they jumped down. "And believe me when I say that hauling your ass around every bar in town is literally the very last thing I want to be doing with my night off."

"Boring." Jim said, "Come on Bones! You're the one telling me I need adult supervision."

"Yes, but since when am I the designated babysitter?" McCoy puffed as they tapped in at the end of the route. They were in forth place and McCoy could live with that, even if Jim's expression did wrinkle in annoyance.

Jim shrugged then bent over to catch his breath. "Better to come keep an eye on me than get a call in the middle of the night to come save the day, right?"

"One of these days I'm going to start ignoring your comms." McCoy threatened.

"Nah," Jim grinned, "you're not."

True, he probably wasn't, but he'd be damned before he admitted it to Jim. Kid's ego was big enough.

* * *

A good - and he used the term loosely - meal and a hot shower - again, loose: Starlfeet plumbing had a lot to answer for - later and McCoy was begrudgingly pulling on a pair of jeans and a plain black shirt. California wasn't usually cold this time of year, but San Francisco's insidious fog made the air feel cooler than it was, so he grabbed his jacket and made it to the door in time to trip over Jim, who was waiting for him outside. The big ass grin and battered leather jacket were nothing new or surprising. The woman on his arm was.

"Evening, Gaila." He said, frowning at Jim.

"Hi Doctor McCoy." Gaila chirruped. No matter how often he'd told her to call him just McCoy, or Leonard, or even Leo for all he cared, Gaila adamantly refused to call him anything but Doctor McCoy. Jim said it was a respect thing, apparently doctors were very highly regarded in the Orion Star System. McCoy wasn't so sure. If she respected him half as much as Jim said she did then she'd not have disobeyed him - repeatedly - to sneak Jim cookies and classwork while he was still in hospital.

"Gaila's going to help." Jim announced.

"Is that a good idea?" McCoy asked, still frowning. "No offense, but this could be dangerous."

Gaila shrugged her shoulders delicately. "I'm sure I'll manage." She said. "Whoever hurt Danny is still out there and I want to help you find him."

"We need the extra eyes, Bones." Jim said softly, "besides, sometimes people will say things to a pretty girl that they won't to a guy, even a guy with your accent."

"Speaking from experience, are you?" McCoy drawled with a sigh. He couldn't fault the kid's logic, but while it was just the two of them involved he could convince himself this was more a matter of pandering to Jim's paranoia. Now there was three of them it seemed more like an organized mission - one he was certain wouldn't end well for any of them.

"I'm very persuasive." Gaila grinned, suddenly causing McCoy's heart rate to rocket. He blinked in surprise, fighting the urge to tug at his collar.

"Be gentle with him, Gaila." Jim laughed. Gaila giggled and McCoy's temperature dropped.

"Sorry, Doctor McCoy." She said with a demure flutter of her lashes. "I'm guessing you've not been around too many Orion women?"

"Um… no. Not exactly." McCoy spluttered. Wow, that was embarrassing.

"So we going?" Jim asked eagerly, holding out an arm that Gaila took. "My lady?"

"Lead on good sir." Gaila laughed.

"God help me." McCoy grumbled, following behind them.

* * *

Jim had already drawn up a plan of action in what McCoy could only describe as obsessive detail. He'd catalogued every singe bar Finnegan and his friends had visited since enlisting, one helped by the tracking data he'd lifted from the Academy servers. From there he'd drawn up bar chars and graphs and actual goddamn equations to find the location most likely to yield results.

They - and by they McCoy meant Jim - were still operating on the assumption that Finnegan had been a specific target. The whys still escaped them, but they - and again, by they McCoy meant Jim - were convinced that something elicit was behind it all. In order to root out the likely causes, they were headed off campus to one of the many bars that cadets went to burn off steam. If there was anything organized happening, odds were it would be happening out from under the prying eyes of their instructors.

The Lucky Jack was a student favorite and a bar McCoy had been dragged to once already. The air was thick with the sweet smell of alcohol as they stepped over the threshold and checked their coats.

"Divide and conquer?" Gaila asked, speaking loudly over the sound of the music.

Jim pressed a gallant kiss to the back of her hand and winked. "Have fun."

"But not too much." McCoy added hastily. "What are we looking for again?" He asked Jim as Gaila sauntered off towards the bar, several heads already turning her way.

"I'll know it when I see it." Jim said, eyes darting around the busy room.

"That's great," McCoy huffed. "What about when _I_ see it?" Jim just shook his head, grinning.

"Just follow my lead."

"Famous last words." McCoy sighed, following Jim into the crowd. "You have a plan?"

"I always have a plan, Bones." Jim promised.

* * *

Twenty minutes later and McCoy was ducking under a swinging fist and a broken glass bottle. "This is your plan?" He screamed at Jim.

"I'm improvising!" Jim yelled back, looking far too amused for a man dodging fists. "Granted it's not going _quite_ as I planned."

"No shit!" He grabbed a bar stool and used it to block an incoming fist from a burley third year cadet. "What the hell did you say to them?"

"Who says this is my fault?" Jim yelled back indignantly, grabbing the fist that had swung towards his face and using his momentum to flip the poor bastard over his shoulder and into two of his buddies.

"Isn't it always your fault?" McCoy screamed, ducking one punch and spinning around into another. He stumbled and was caught by Gaila who had made her way through the crowds at the sound of the fight.

"Was this part of the plan?" She asked, "I thought we were supposed to be asking people nicely."

"Take it up with Prince Charming over there." McCoy said gruffly, glancing over to Jim who was having the time of his life by the looks of it.

"He seems happy." Gaila said curiously.

"He's soft in the head." McCoy sighed.

"Should we help him?" Gaila frowned. "Humans are very breakable, aren't they?"

Jim kicked a cadet in the chest, knocking him back against the bar. McCoy dimly recognized the cadet as Cupcake, Jim's nemesis right from day one. "Not this one."

"Still." Gaila looked a little worried. McCoy could hardly blame her, but as much as he worried about Jim, a small part of him was pissed as hell their little expedition had ended like this. He knew Jim was a scrapper, but he'd never actually seen the kid fight before. He was a little shocked by how much Jim seemed to be enjoying himself.

He knew Jim hadn't been fighting at all since he'd enlisted. He'd even gone so far as to not even protect himself against Anderson and Mitchell. He'd been trying to behave, to fit in. McCoy wasn't sure what had started this fight, only that one minute Jim had been flirting outrageously with the bartender, and the next they were dodging flying bottles.

"He's…fine." McCoy shook his head. More than fine, Jim looked happy.

And he was winning.

"Should we _stop_ him?" Gaila ventured. Jim had floored the last of the cadets coming at him and had Cupcake flat on his back over one of the tables, fist drawn back.

"No." McCoy shook his head, remembering the mess Cupcake had made of Jim's face. Still, he cringed when Jim landed the first punch. And the second. "Maybe?" A third, a forth…"Damnit Jim, that's enough!"

He was surprised when Jim obeyed, dropping Cupcake back on to the table and looking over his shoulder at McCoy. "You okay Bones?" He asked.

"I think we're done for tonight, yes?" McCoy said, his voice stern. Jim cocked his head then shrugged.

"Sure." He turned his back on the pile of groaning cadets. "Message received, gents?"

McCoy wasn't even sure _what_ Jim's message had been but from the moans and whimpers following out of the bar he could only assume that whatever it was, it had been received loud and crystal clear.


	19. Chapter 18

This chapter comes with an angst warning. And a language warnings. And a violence warning. And a Jim does not make good life choices when upset warning (neither does McCoy).

* * *

Jim woke to the soft brush of long hair against his shoulder. He rubbed at his eyes and groaned sleepily. "How is it morning already?"

"Because the Earth has a twenty-four hour rotation around the sun?" Gaila postulated, propping herself up on one elbow and absently playing connect the dots with the freckles on Jim's shoulder. "It's quite unseemly."

"We can't all be from planets with forty-one hour rotations." Jim snorted.

"Probably a good thing. You humans would be falling asleep half-way through the day."

"Are you calling my species fragile?" Jim asked, eyebrow raising and his grin growing. "Because I don't recall you complaining last night."

"Of course I wouldn't complain!" Gaila giggled. "Human egos are as delicate as their-"

"Hey!" Jim pouted, throwing a pillow at her. "See if I do that thing you like again."

She rolled her eyes, an expression she was rather proud to have adopted and one Jim blamed predominantly on Uhura. "You like it just as much as I do." She smirked. "Don't deny it." Jim just grinned.

"Why can't Uhura spend all her nights in the long range sensor labs?" Jim complained, stretching out on the bed and luxuriating in the privacy of a two person dorm. He'd taken to avoiding his own bunk as much as possible. He divided his time between Gaila's dorm - when Uhura was on duty - one of the engineering hangers and the library. He crashed the odd night on Bones's tiny couch but knew he couldn't push that resource without Bones catching on to the fact that, at most, Jim slept one night a week in his own bunk. He'd got away with it so far by manipulating the location services on his comm. His dorm mates said nothing because Jim's absence meant they could get a good night's sleep. Gaila said nothing because she understood.

Jim couldn't remember a time when he hadn't had nightmares. Even as a little boy, before there had been anything in his life really worthy of bad dreams, he'd been afraid of the things that lurked in the dark shadows of the night. Sam had used to tease him for them.

Since finding Finnegan, they'd become more frequent than usual.

He wasn't really loud when he dreams. Okay, sometimes he woke up screaming, but that was a rarity. Most of the times he tossed and turned before waking abruptly. Sometimes he came up swinging. Lots of times he came up swinging. He'd given Cy and Humperdink more black eyes than he cared to remember.

"You should put in a rotation request." Gaila advised him seriously. "They are horrible to you."

"It's just banter," Jim defended. She poked him hard in the ribs, right on top of a fresh bruise he had from a collision in the showers. "Physically expressive banter?"

"Jimmy…"

"I know." Jim groaned, throwing the sheets back. "Where did I thrown my pants?"

"Other bed?" Gaila asked, unashamed of her nakedness as she climbed off the bed. "You could stay for a shower." She suggested.

Jim was tempted, oh so very tempted. Especially when she stood the way she was standing then, hip jutted at an angle, her fingernails drumming coyly over the curve of her thigh.

"If I stay," Jim pointed out, "a shower will lead to that thing."

"That thing is fun." Gaila giggled.

"Oh, it is." Jim nodded rapidly. "It's also counterproductive to my study plans."

"You realize that you are the only red-blooded man to ever turn down sex with an Orion woman in favor of studying, right?" Gaila asked, laughing at him.

"I'm awesome that way." Jim grinned, stealing a quick kiss. "Though technically it's not so much me turning you down as saying: 'rain check'?"

"But it's sunny." Gaila frowned, looking out her window. "And I know you're not going to study. You're going to spend all morning reading Danny's medical file as if you don't already have it memorized."

"Not true." Jim pouted, then said, "You know this is important, Gaila." He said, hoping that she at least understood why he couldn't let this just drop. It might have been a big ask. Even Jim couldn't understand it.

"I know." Gaila said, leaning in to finish fastening his shirt for him.

"Just don't do anything reckless, yes?"

"Me?" Jim asked, his face a picture of innocence, "reckless?"

"Exactly." Gaila laughed.

* * *

"Bones!" Jim let himself into Bones' dorm room and jumped on to the couch.

"I'm in the shower." Bones yelled from behind the closed bathroom door. "And who the hell said you could come in?"

"That's nice!" Jim shouted back, purposely mishearing him.

"Your comm's ringing!" He added, eyes moving to the small device Bones had left on the counter.

"So answer it already!" Bones snapped back. Jim sniggered. Bones was such a grumpy bastard in the morning.

"Personal comm of Doctor Leonard McCoy, M.D. G. R. U. M. P." Jim answered the comm in a chirrupy voice, not recognizing the name that flashed on screen. As far as he knew there wasn't Clay Treadway in their year, though he could have been one of the medical cadets McCoy sometimes hung out with.

_"Who is this?"_ Ooh, Georgia! Jim grinned as he recognized the accent. Maybe not a cadet after all. Maybe someone from way back home.

"Who is this?" Jim echoed.

_"Clay."_

"Hi Clay." Jim said, overly polite. "What can the office of Doctor McCoy do for you today?"

_"The office of…is Leo there?"_ Jim's eyebrows shot up. Leo, huh? Not as good as Bones, but then what was?

"He's currently drowning himself in a shower of angst feelings and hot water. Can I take a message?" Jim chirruped.

"Who is it?" Bones yelled from the bathroom.

"Some guy!" Jim shouted back. "Oops, sorry. Didn't mean to yell at you!" He apologized to the voice on the other end of the comm. "So, message?"

There was an angry growl, then, _"Tell him to stop being such a cowardly piece of shit and to comm his daughter." _The ring of a disconnected line told Jim that Clay had ended the connection.

He turned, slightly stunned, to face the bathroom door just as Bones came charging out, wrapped in a towel and his perpetually irritated expression. "Well?" Bones demanded. "Who was it?"

"You have a daughter?" Jim demanded, half expecting it to be a joke.

But the color drained from Bones' face and he made a grab for the comm. "Jo called?"

"Wait, you actually have a daughter?" Jim repeated. "Like, a real life kid?"

"She's not made of wood if that's what you mean." McCoy snapped, frowning in confusion when he saw the name on the record of calls.

"Clay called? Did you talk to him?"

"You have a daughter?" Jim repeated once more. "Holy shit, how can you have a fucking kid, Bones?"

"It's called sex." Bones scowled, hands tightening on the edges of his towel. "I'd go out on a limb and say you've heard of it."

"Yeah, but you have a kid. How the fucking fuck did that happen?"

Bones did not look impressed. "Well Jim, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much they get a visit from a friendly stork who-"

"Fuck you, Bones." Jim snapped, unable to understand why he was suddenly so angry. So Bones had a kid, big deal.

"What the hell is your problem, kid?" Bones demanded. "So I have a daughter, big deal. I fail to see how it's any of your goddamn business."

Jim knew Bones was only getting so angry because Jim was. He knew he was escalating the subject, but for the life of him he couldn't stop himself.

"Oh you're right, it's none of my business. But tell me something Bones, your kid, how old is she?"

"She's two." Bones said, pain flicking in his eyes.

"And does she know why her daddy abandoned her?" Jim asked, nastiness creeping into his voice.

He should stop. He knew he should stop. He couldn't.

Bones was a good guy, he was. The best Jim had ever met, maybe.

And maybe…maybe that was it. Maybe this was what he was waiting for. Proof that Bones wasn't perfect. Proof that he was going to let Jim down just like everyone else had. If he could abandon his kid then he could sure as hell do the same to Jim. He obviously wasn't the person Jim had foolishly believed he was.

"You're well out of line, kid." McCoy said, his voice becoming cold and very quiet. It was a warning sign Jim was a little too far gone with anger to heed.

"That's a bit fucking rich." Jim laughed hollowly. "So what's the matter? She not smart enough? Not special enough? She's clearly not worth you sticking around for but I mean it all makes sense, doesn't it? Knew there had to be a reason for you running off to Starfleet when you hate every fucking thing about it here-"

"Don't you go putting your own issues on me, you little shit." McCoy snapped, anger coiling in his shoulders and down his arm.

Jim knew the signs well. Frank had always looked the same, right before he lost it. When he was younger, it had been a sign to run, hide. Now it was a trigger to push harder, more ruthlessly. To make his target lose that control because when he did, it became Jim's.

He stabbed in the preverbal knife and twisted it hard. "My issues? I'm not the one who can't even love his own daughter enough to stick around and-"

He'd seen the warnings and he'd pushed them, but still, somehow, the collision of McCoy's fist with his jaw took him by surprise.

Bones had some serious upper body strength and the full weight of his anger behind him. The side of Jim's face flared with pain and his mouth flooded with blood.

Jim laughed as it trickled down his throat and over his lips. He laughed at his own stupidity and he laughed at the stunned, horrified look that had come to replace the anger on McCoy's face.

McCoy stayed frozen to the spot, so shocked and disgusted that it looked as if he'd been the one who had been hit, not Jim.

Jim didn't let people get hits out for nothing. Not these days. Not if he could help it. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to hit Bones back.

He kept laughing as he walked right out of the door, blood still flowing freely from where his teeth had cut his gums, trickling down from his mouth to stain the collar of his shirt. He'd have a wicked bruise in a few hours.

That, somehow, was just as funny. He was still laughing on the other side of campus, in the lifts, and as he waited outside the closed door of an office he'd spent far too much time in the last few weeks.

Pike opened the door to him, his stern face twisting in shock as he took in Jim's bloody features. After shock came the rage. It was a brief flicker of fierce, protective anger, and though it vanished almost as quickly as it came, it made the throbbing pain ease.

For that look, Jim would let Bones punch him a hundred times.


End file.
